


Tell the Story of Tonight

by thiccskeleton



Series: So You're the Archivist, Then? [2]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: (and when I say Michael Shelley lives I mean og Michael), Archivist Reader, Canon-Typical Violence, Canon-Typical Worms (The Magnus Archives), F/F, F/M, Gerard Keay Lives, Gerry and Michael will be romantic options later, Gerry literally knows everything anyway so, Leitner is MIA because I cant figure out what to do with him, M/M, Michael Shelley Lives, Mike Can Ask The Reader On A Date As A Treat, Other, Sasha James Lives, Slow Burn, Tim Stoker Lives (The Magnus Archives), not the Distortion, this fic centers on the assistants, whereas another adjacent fic in this series focuses on Elias
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-27
Updated: 2020-12-29
Packaged: 2021-03-09 06:00:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 37,448
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27198853
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thiccskeleton/pseuds/thiccskeleton
Summary: Your head felt like a pinball machine as the reality of your new position bumped around in your thought space unendingly, unable to settle into a pocket of reality where this new opportunity made sense.You were the new Head Archivist of the Magnus Institute.
Relationships: Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist & Reader, Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist/Reader, Martin Blackwood & Reader, Martin Blackwood/Reader, Melanie King & Reader, Sasha James & Reader, Sasha James/Reader, Tim Stoker (The Magnus Archives) & Reader, Tim Stoker (The Magnus Archives)/Reader
Series: So You're the Archivist, Then? [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1984288
Comments: 71
Kudos: 81





	1. Tomorrow There Will Be More of Us

Your head felt like a pinball machine as the reality of your new position bumped around in your thought space unendingly, unable to settle into a pocket of reality where this new opportunity made sense. 

You were the new Head Archivist of the Magnus Institute.

How Elias had chosen _you_ out of all of his prospects (and so confidently as well, might you add) still didn’t make a lick of sense but it was the truth nonetheless. It shouldn’t have been a big deal, really, everyone got promotions sometime in their lives. But you supposed in this case it was a bit different because, well, in this workspace the position of archivist was almost… _special_ , in a way. Sure, the Institute was heralded for its copious amounts of research on the esoteric, but beyond that it was known as the place where _anyone_ could go to make a statement. To talk about what they saw or maybe, indeed, didn’t see. Whether that be a good thing or a bad thing was up to anyone’s individual interpretation but within the Institute’s own sphere of politics - it was a big deal. 

Now you were the Archivist. You were in charge of taking those statements. You were _kind of a big deal._ And perhaps that wasn’t something you were used to being. 

In fact, it _wasn’t_ something you were used to being. It was going to take some getting used to. 

These thoughts accompanied you all the way back to the research lab, wherein your coworkers - or at least two of them - had been eagerly awaiting your return. The moment Rosie had called, requesting for you to head up to Elias’ office you had immediately made an offhand comment to the effect of “This is it, boys. This is the day he finally kills me,” in preparation for the scolding you were certain you were about to receive. 

So when you returned, very much not dead or looking even remotely like you’d just gotten reprimanded, they were rather curious to hear what had happened. 

"Well look at that you made it back alive." Sasha chuckled. 

"Guess big boss just wanted to see your pretty face." Tim grinned, to which of course you just rolled your eyes, not without a tinge of pink touching your cheeks (because Timothy Stoker had that effect on everyone, including you.) 

"Hardly." You snorted. "He did have something… rather interesting to say though." 

"Oh?" Sasha threw up an eyebrow. "Well don't keep us in suspense, what did he say?" 

"Uhm…" You took a second, your brain still processing through the new information. “Well, actually, he gave me a promotion.” You smiled sheepishly. “I’m the new Head Archivist as of next week.” 

Tim was the first one to speak, face split into a wide grin once you get the words out. There’s this shining pride in his eyes that makes you want to fall over and die because you’re not sure when it was that someone last looked at you like that. “Wait, seriously!? Congratulations, that’s wonderful!” 

Sasha is soon to follow suit and while you can feel that she’s equally as happy for you, you can sense the soft disappointment of having been shafted for yet another big position. And you couldn’t blame her. You had all been joking about how she was assuredly the only logical choice for the next archivist, and while she didn’t feed into the idea, well aware of how unfair the academic climate could be, you could tell that she’d been silently hoping for the opportunity. 

“Look at you, moving up in the world! And here you thought you were going to get yelled at.” She snickered, smiling throughout it all. 

“Look, getting yelled at was a far more expected outcome than what actually just happened.” You laughed. “I’m the last one I would’ve picked for Head Archivist.” 

“Oh, come off it.” Tim smirked, straightening up in his seat, clearly ready to take aim at your horrible self esteem. “You’re brilliant! You’re creative and adorable. You deserve it just as much as anyone else.” 

“I, uh, well-” 

“Let’s just address the elephant in the room.” He cut in, swiveling his attention to Sasha. “I know we were all hyping up our dear Sasha for the position but that doesn’t mean we can’t be happy for you. You’ve been putting in the time and effort as much as anyone else, be happy for yourself.” 

And at that you looked to Sasha, still feeling a sense of guilt overwhelming you despite your friend’s words of encouragement. “I know I just, I just feel bad is all.” 

"Oh please, don’t worry about me. I’m a big girl, I can handle it." She chuckled, if not a bit softer than normal. "Look, if he offered it to you then you have every right to take it. That's how business goes. It doesn't matter how I feel. And besides there's other opportunities out there." 

"Well," you hesitated, understanding quite clearly that she meant getting a different job. But at that moment the thought dawned on you that you did in fact have some responsibilities before you started your new job. "What about the opportunity of being my assistant? Both of you, actually.” 

She looked a bit taken aback by that, which you found rather amusing. As if there was really anyone else you would've asked first. 

"Wait, really?" Tim asked.

You smiled at him. "Yeah, of course! If you want it that is. I get my pick of assistants and you guys were first on my list." You then turned to Sasha, regarding her earnestly. “No pressure of course, even if you leave after I won’t mind. But it really would be nice to have you guys with me.” 

You left out the part about how much less terrified you’d be having them with you, not wanting to guilt her further into a position that potentially made her uncomfortable. 

“Well, as you already know, I am physically incapable of saying no to you, so you can count me in.” Tim smirked, his natural charisma shining through and knocking the wind out of your lungs (God, were you gay.) “Besides, might be nice to start something new after working four years of research.” 

Sasha in turn, answered in kind, her smile a bit brighter than it had been before. “I think I’d have to agree. Besides, who else is going to keep you out of trouble?” She winked. (Which also threw your gay ass heart out of whack, might you add.) 

“Keep _me_ out of trouble?” You guffawed, the tail ends of your mouth quirking up into a smile. “More like I need to take the two of you down to the dungeons with me to keep the Institute safe.” 

“Fair enough.” Sasha giggled. “Anyway, besides us did you have anyone else in mind?” 

“Yeah,” you nodded, having plucked out your candidates for assistants practically the moment Elias had given you the option. “I was thinking Martin and Jon could round out our little group, if they say yes of course.” 

“Oohh,” Tim cooed. “Interesting combination. I don't think they've met yet.” 

"Well, now they'll have a chance to." You began. "I was thinking, y'know, aside from how smart they both are Martin is really good about looking outside the box and Jon is good at organizing things from within the box. And I think both of those perspectives are useful. Sometimes especially if used in conjunction. You know?” 

Tim looked to Sasha, a soft spark of wonder in his eyes. “They’re starting to sound like our new boss already, huh?” To which she just snickered in return, even harder once you’d softly popped him on the shoulder with a vanilla envelope that had been sitting on your desk. 

“Anyway,” you continued as Tim laughed to himself, feigning injury as he rubbed at his shoulder. “We start on Monday so I’m gonna go find them. Any idea where Jon is?”

“I think he’s in Artefact Storage.” Sasha spoke, a lilt of disgust in her tone. “We had some weird type of pipe organ or something come in and he got assigned to it.” 

“Cool. I’ll go check that out. Thanks guys.” You decided, turning to go. 

“No problem. Don’t get eaten!” Sasha called with a short chuckle as you headed out. 

“See you monday, new boss!” Was Tim’s added call as you reached the door. 

And maybe, you thought to yourself - smiling like an idiot - just maybe you could do this after all. 

____________________________

Stepping into Artefact Storage, you found Jon exactly where Sasha had said he would be, scrutinizing some kind of steam organ over the rim of his glasses. He didn't even budge when you opened the door, lost in thought as he stared at the thing as though it had just whispered the secrets of the world to him. 

"Find anything interesting?" You asked, watching him jolt slightly as your voice brought him out of whatever trance he was in. 

He turned to face you, eyes wide in surprise until he realized who had joined him in the storage room, at which point they fell back into their position of always being a slight bit narrowed.

"Oh, ___. I didn't hear you come in." 

"I noticed." You giggled softly. "Sorry if I scared you." 

"No, no, not at all." He said with a slight shake of his head, clearly trying to retain any dignity he might've lost a moment before. "I was just, uh, looking at something." 

"Right." You nodded, stifling a chuckle.

"Anyway," he coughed slightly. "What brings you down here? Did you need something?" 

"Yes, actually. I wanted to ask you something." 

"About?" He asked again, eyebrow raised. 

"Well, I've got a proposition for you." You smiled. "Let's say theoretically I've just become the new Head Archivist, would you like to be one of my assistants?" 

And while you grinned at him like an idiot - more so even because you could tell the question had initially gone over his head - he looked at you like you'd started speaking in gibberish. 

"That's, er, a rather odd hypothetical but I suppose - wait," there's the moment it clicked in his mind. " _Are_ you the new Archivist?" 

"As impossible as it may be to believe - yes. You are looking at the new Head Archivist of the Magnus Institute." You gestured your arms outwards in a mock display of showing yourself off. 

"When did this happen?" He asked as he pushed up his glasses, seemingly almost as shocked as you had been. 

"About forty minutes ago." You answered, settling your hands on your hips.

"Really?" He blinked a few times, clearly working through something in his brain. "Well, congratulations in that case." 

"Thank you!" You smiled. "However, can't help but notice you didn't answer my question." 

"Sorry?" 

"Would you like to come on as one of my assistants?" You reiterated. "I could really use your help." 

"Oh." He paused. "I mean, I don't see any reason why not." 

And while he may not have exhibited the same eagerness that Sasha and Tim may have, a yes was still a yes. 

"Good!" You chirped, flashing him a thumbs up. "That just leaves one more person on the list." 

"Who might that be?" 

"If he says yes you'll find out on Monday." You winked, watching as he scrunched up his face in subtle annoyance. "But it's getting close to quitting time so I'm going to go find him before the day is out." And with that you turned to go. "See you Monday, Jon!" 

"Right. See you then." He called after you, watching as you left. 

Three down, one to go. 

_____________________

The walk from Artefact Storage up to the Library was always a bit of a hustle, especially on a time crunch, but you managed to make it through the doors about twenty minutes before they closed. Just enough time to find who you were looking for. 

He was usually secluded away between the shelves, returning books to their proper, alphabetically assigned places. 

And when you looked, that's exactly where you found him. 

He didn't notice you at first, much too preoccupied trying to sort through the stack of books in his hands. 

But then you called his name a bit too loudly within that quiet space: "Hey Martin!"

And the stack of books in his hands went tumbling to the floor as he let out a surprised "Oh!" 

"Oh shit, my bad." You said, moving in to help pick up the mess you'd inadvertently caused. "Seems like I'm just scaring everyone today." 

Martin responded with a sheepish chuckle, shaking his head. "N-No, no, it's alright. You just, just startled me a little was all. Wasn't expecting anyone to come in at this hour, you know?" 

"Makes sense." You affirmed, collecting half of the books in your arms to make his life a little easier. "Probably would've been out the door myself by now but! I needed to come see you!" 

His cheeks flushed a gentle red almost immediately. "Me? Why?" 

His brows squished together suddenly, a disapproving look on his face as a thought makes itself at home in his mind. "You're not bringing another book back late again are you? Because I'm not sure I can cover for you this time." 

"No, no, nothing like that silly." You shook your head. "I came to ask you something!" 

"Oh? Well, uh, what is it?" 

"Well," you started, getting to your feet with the books you'd collected in your arms. "As of about an hour ago, I'm the new Head Archivist." 

You'd said it so much in the past two hours and yet somehow it never stopped feeling like it wasn't real. Like you didn't deserve it.

Martin on the other hand seemed ecstatic for you, if his bright eyes and wide smile were anything to go off of. "Really?! That's wonderful, congratulations!" 

"Aww, thank you." You smiled, rubbing the back of your neck awkwardly. "It's still a bit weird getting used to but, aside from that, Elias gave me my pick of assistants. I came to ask if you'd like to be one?" 

You watched with a bubbling giddiness as Martin's joyful expression melted back into one that was quite a bit more flustered, a bit more shy and unsure. 

"Wait, me? R-Really, are you sure?" He stuttered, face very much flushed by that point. 

"Yup, absolutely! I've already got my other three choices, you're the last one I need for a whole set." You chuckled. "No pressure though, of course. I understand if you're not interested." 

"I, oh, no, no, it's nothing like that I just - I'm just, surprised is all. Kind of caught me off guard there." He fumbled, trying to explain himself. "But, yeah, sure, I'd be happy to be your assistant." 

"Brilliant!" You cheered quietly. "We start next week, so after we get these books put away you're officially an assistant archivist." 

"That sounds lovely." He smiled at you. "Thank you for the opportunity, really."

Your own smile broke into a grin at that. "Aw, no worries. You're doing me a big favor helping me out anyway." 

"Well, glad I can help then." 

"Me too." 

And so, that would be how you began your job as the new Archivist of the Magnus Institute, alongside your four new assistant archivists. 

Looking back, you had to wonder how things might've been different, how they might've changed, had you known the truth of what you were walking into. 

Would you have even taken the position? Who was to say. 

All that was for certain now was that it was yours. 

And it was up to you to figure out what to do with it. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HERE WE GOOOOO.
> 
> So this fic will focus on the reader's relationship to their assistants and is essentially "the good route" if you want to think about it like that. 
> 
> I'll be putting out another fic at some point that focuses on an Elias/reader perspective almost exclusively because while I'm not an Eliasfucker everytime I read a "Elias is unhealthily attached to his archivists" headcanon my brain goes wrrrrrr!!! And that fic would be a "bad route" essentially but only in that you will not have a healthy relationship with your assistants by the end 👀
> 
> Anyway, let me know how you guys feel about all that! Any feedback is appreciated! My tumblr is @gerryrigged if you'd like to check me out there!


	2. Early Days

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A look into the beginnings of your career as archivist.

Your very first day in the archives began with your very first recorded statement screaming back static at you. 

"Recording ends." 

A pause. 

"Alright, let's see if that did the trick." 

You dragged your cursor to the play button, practically jumping out of your chair at the noise that was fed back to you. A high pitched squeal resounded about your office, digging into your eardrums and vibrating at such a high intensity that you thought they might start bleeding. 

"Jesus fucking Christ!" You scrambled to turn the thing off, again dragging your cursor to the now pause button and breathing hard in relief as the noise stopped. 

You hadn't even noticed how hard your heart was beating until, within the silence of the room, you could hear it in your ears.

The next thing you heard was the door to your office click open. Sasha emerged from behind it a second later, poking her head into the room with a look of concern. 

"You alright in here? I thought I heard something." 

"Yeah, no, I'm fine just some really intense feedback on a recording." You sighed, rubbing at your temples to calm the headache that had begun to form. "Guess my mic is acting up or something." 

"It must be. I heard that all the way outside!" She said with a chuckle, fully emerging into your office and closing the door behind her. "Sounded like a bad T.V. signal." 

"Trust me it was that but a thousand times worse if you were sitting right in front of it. Thought my ears were gonna start bleeding." 

Sasha chuckled again, softly into her hand this time as she made her way up to you. She made her way around your desk and bent over, seemingly checking your ears for any sign of injury - even if only as a jest. 

"Well, I don't see any blood so I think you're good." She flashed you a thumbs up. 

"Brilliant." You snickered, rolling your eyes. "Anyway, did you need something?" 

"Actually yes," she said, straightening herself out. "We found a whole box filled with old casettes. Of course, none of them are dated or labelled so we thought we should ask you what to do with them." 

"Ugh, just throw them away." You groaned, not entirely serious but not entirely joking either. 

"You know we can't do that. It's institute property." Sasha argued, a playful smirk on her face. 

"I know, I know." You sighed. "I'll come take a look at them but I swear," - you scooted your chair back far enough to get to a standing - "It feels like Gertrude did this to spite whoever was getting her job." 

"Don't know if she'd go that far but I also wouldn't put it past her." Your new assistant propped a hand on her hip. "She was pretty sharp for her age." 

"Then why does this place look like a tornado hit it?" 

"I'm not sure but I almost feel like…" She paused, eyes darting down to the floor and then back up at you. "It sounds daft, I know, but it almost feels deliberate." 

"Like she meant to leave it a mess?" 

"Like she was _hiding_ something." There's a hard look in her eyes for a moment, as if trying to convey some unspoken truth that she had stumbled on. 

You raised an eyebrow at her, curiosity bubbling up from within you. "You really think that?" 

"I've got my tinfoil hat on." She smiled, tapping the side of her head. "Just don't tell the guys. Jon's already started his "why do they waste their time making statements" schpeel." 

“Oh _good._ ” 

“Come on, you know you love it.” 

“I know I really don’t. I mean, honestly, why work in a place that literally specializes in the supernatural if you don’t believe any of it?” 

“Think maybe he’s compensating for something?” She asked, a curious twinkle in her eyes. 

“What? Like he’s being boisterous because he actually does believe but doesn’t want to admit it?” 

“Not to put too fine a point on it but - yes.” 

You laughed. “I think that’s exactly putting the point on it.” 

“Which, incidentally, is the exact point of that phrase.” She giggled back. 

“Ah yes, quite.” You nodded, a smile curling onto your lips despite yourself. And at that you began to head for the door, Sasha stepping in line behind you. “Anway, let's get this tape recorder business settled.”

“Right away boss.”

The two of you step through the door to your office and it’s off to the storage room. 

_________________________

The tapes are all completely blank when you go through them. 

There’s only a few, all collected in a small box but it still felt odd to you somehow that none of them had anything on them. Just blank static. Had Gertrude used cassettes for her statements? Sure she was older but if she was as smart as Sasha claimed then surely she would’ve been able to adapt to the digital age. Or perhaps that was giving her too much credit. 

In any case it seemed like they would come in handy. 

After the third time of having recorded your first statement and having shrieking static screamed back at you you decided to give the recorder a try. It had almost been for laughs at first. A little joke amongst yourself to break the frustrated headache that had begun to form from having to listen to that god awful sound. 

But then it worked. 

And it worked for the second one as well. 

And then the third. 

Then that feeling of someone’s eyes all over you started. And it grew with every passing day.

You started noticing a pattern. 

The statements that could only be recorded to the tapes always came with that watched feeling. Like someone wanted to get your reaction, to drink in the uneasiness that you’d started to feel, to witness the way you’d lose yourself reciting these statements. At first you tried to tell yourself that it was just nerves, that you were just unaccustomed to having to record yourself for anything let alone for a job. That perhaps you felt a bit weird reading the testament of someone’s ghost story. 

And while you never quite grew out of feeling like it was just a _you_ thing, somewhere deep in your subconscious the thought that this wasn't normal, that things in these statements had more substance than people might've given them credit for started to take root. 

And in time - not now, eventually - those thoughts would sprawl to cover the entire inside of your cranium, blooming bloody and inescapable like weeds in the garden of your truth. 

For now though, it was better for the things that sought to control you that you went on believing that this was just insecurity, that these feelings were the result of the pressure of expectation. 

And the man watching you from his office smiled to himself, a sense of pride running through his veins as you fall out of yet another trance, the inevitable "Recording ends" knocking you back into reality, looking about your office with a worried glance - sure that you'd seen something in the corner. 

He observes the worried eyes, the soft gulp and the heavy sigh as you shake your head, telling yourself to stop being so stupid. 

Oh, if only you knew. 

But you would, in time. 

In time you would know _everything._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alternate description for this chapter: Spooky man watches you from his office in a vaguely sexual nature because not only is that canon, but I know some of you are into that, which I understand LOL


	3. Problem Child

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A look into the dynamics of your new team.

Over the next few weeks - those weeks somehow turning into months far quicker than you expected - you started to learn how to navigate the new group dynamic that had appeared amongst you and your assistants. 

It would’ve been a lie to say you hadn’t expected things to remain relatively the same as they did before you got the position. After all you knew your assistants to some varying degrees, some better than others, so you weren’t sure what really had to change in that regard. But changes began and changes stayed, as you quickly found out. 

Tim and Sasha were much the same thankfully. They were all easygoing attitudes and playful smiles to make life just that bit more bearable. Not to mention how efficient they were in getting you what information you needed. 

And while Jon and Martin were certainly efficient as well, they came with other qualities you weren’t quite used to. 

Martin for one doted on you like a mother, bringing you tea even when you hadn't asked for it, though always when you seemed to need it. You'd picked up a habit in your teen years that consisted of getting absorbed into things to the point that the passage of time went wholly unrecognised by you, at least until something reminded you of it. Sometimes it was an alarm or Sasha letting you know it was quitting time but usually it was Martin bringing you tea or a snack because you'd missed lunch by a few hours. 

"Martin, it is incredibly sweet that you care so much but really, you don't have to worry about me." You smiled, even though your stomach was practically screaming at you. 

There was this sense of guilt, of undeservedness whenever anyone did something kind for you. It was a learned behavior, sure, and Tim had a habit of trying to break you out of it but feelings like that didn't disappear over night. So there you were. Guilty, trying to make sure you weren't coming across as ungrateful.

"I wouldn't have to if you'd just remember to eat or take a break." Martin huffed, now even adopting the gently scolding tone of a parental figure as he set the cup down on your desk. "I mean really, are statements that interesting?" 

"Well, it is kind of my job, y'know?" You chuckled, shuffling a bit awkwardly in your chair, not sure when it last was that you got scolded for putting your work above yourself. 

"Yeah and you can't do that job unless you're taking care of yourself." 

"Yes, right, I get it." You softly conceded. "I'll try to be more mindful of my time, okay?" 

Martin didn't seem to wholly believe you judging by his slight frown and worried eyes, but seeing as he couldn't do much more than he already was, it seemed a moot point to try and continue the conversation. 

"Alright, but I'm holding you to that." 

The irony was not lost on the two of you as you, his boss, raised a hand and saluted him - your assistant - with a cheeky "Yes, sir!" before he set off on his way.

It wasn’t exactly a bad thing, Martin’s caring nature, you found it rather endearing actually. It was just something you weren’t used to. 

Furthermore, you also didn’t want him to feel like that as his boss it was his job to take care of you. In fact it was quite the other way around. You were the one who was supposed to be providing guidance and direction, which was admittedly something you struggled with in the very beginning. Thankfully, most of your team was rather susceptible to your ideas and seemed content to let you lead them through this new department, figuring it out alongside you. 

Of course, when you said  _ most  _ of your team, that didn’t quite translate to  _ all _ . And the problem child was one you had been expecting since you’d asked him to join you. 

Jon was almost the exact opposite of Martin, at least in temperament. Where Martin was warmer, more welcoming - Jon was a bit colder, more reserved you'd say. He was "Mr. No Nonsense" in every sense of the title, probably even moreso than Elias in your opinion. And while that attitude worked wonderfully when it came to researching statements it also caused a fair bit of friction now and again. 

Jon had a tendency to… "backseat archivist" is what you would've called it. His insight into the statements you assigned him to were certainly invaluable but it seemed almost a waste of time when practically  _ every  _ statement you handed to him was met with cynicsm and doubt. 

"Jon." You stared at him in disbelief. "Are you actually going to sit here and try to tell me that there's  _ nothing  _ weird about Mr.Vittery being covered in cobwebs following his passing? Especially considering the nature of his statement?" 

"I didn't say it wasn't strange." He corrected, unhooking a crossed arm to push up his glasses before tucking it back in against his chest. "I just don't think anything  _ supernatural- _ ” the word came out almost as a hiss, as if its very existence in the English language scorned him  _ “- _ was related to the incident. Furthermore, regarding the  _ nature _ of his statement Mr. Vittery also mentioned he was looking into narcotics for his hallucinations. Which I think is rather important to note."

An unspoken " _ oh my god"  _ sat at the tip of your tongue as it pressed hard against the back of your teeth, just barely driven away by the last vestiges of willpower you had. It wasn't worth getting into another spat with him, it would've been far too many to count in as many weeks and you were far too drained to debate. 

"Okay," you said, taking in a breath through your nose. "Okay, fair enough, I suppose.  _ Anyway- _ " 

You reached over to grab a statement from the stack sitting on your desk. "I need you to look into this statement for me. I think it's right up your alley." You passed him the document, to which he squinted at the paper, already scrutinizing it before he had a chance to read the material. "It's from a Mr. Sebastian Addekoya. Says he had a run in with a Leitner - The Boneturner's Tale." 

The moment the word Leitner left your mouth Jon's eyes lit up. You wouldn't say he looked particularly excited, alarmed would be more appropriate, or perhaps it was more so that his interest was just piqued. It was hard to tell with Jon but he at least seemed to be more accommodating given the subject material.

"They have certainly been popping up quite a bit recently, haven't they?" He asked in a low, dark voice. Almost as if it were a warning. 

"Aside from this statement there's been one other so far - Ex Altiora. But I agree, even two is too many." You agreed. 

"Have you spoken to Elias?" 

"I have." You nodded, then rolled your eyes. "I'll give you three guesses as to what his advice was." 

Jon sighed, hard and heavy. "Right. Observe and record. Containment is a job for the police." 

"Mm-hmm." You hummed tiredly, rather annoyed yourself at Elias' nonchalance towards the situation. Though it's not as if you expected much more from him. He'd always been that way. "So unless they wind up at the Institute we just have to hope no one else has gotten to them." 

"I see." He huffs, then gets to a standing after, picking up the statement as well as the notes you'd made, which you slid off to him after the fact. "Well, I'll get to looking over these." 

"Much appreciated. Thank you, Jon." You smiled softly, still trying to be cordial even if he did make you crazy at times. 

He responded with a light "yes, of course" as he made his way out of your office. 

In turn you let out a breath of air, deflating slightly as you reached for your next statement - one by a Ms. Lesere Saraki that would go on to feature a recurring dark haired lad with one too many eye tattoos. 

And that would be a normal afternoon in your new career . 

At least for now. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> True to form Jon is a pain in the ass for a little while but he'll get there.   
> I know the chapters are short but I'm gonna try to release two or three of them at a time at least until we get to the actual canon divergence. For right now I'm just setting things up, as you do. Hope you guys are doing well and you're still on board!


	4. Whiplash and Worms

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The afternoon starts off with Tim being attractive and flaunting it. It ends with a box of silver worms on your desk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: worms, emetephobia/depictions of feeling ill or about to vomit

It wasn't every day that Timothy Stoker came into your office wearing a dark, floral dress shirt with the deepest v-neck he could possibly find. 

But that particular day wasn't every day was it?

“So, based on my outfit, would you dress code me?” He smirked, leaning back against your desk with a flirtatious twinkle in his eyes. 

You, willing your eyes to keep contact with his own (lest they start wandering to places on him that certainly were not appropriate in a work setting), blinked once, then twice before you managed to crack a cheeky smile. 

"Based on _my_ dress code rules or Elias'?" 

Tim just shrugged, answered confidently with "Both." 

"Well," you started. "I'm certainly not going to kick you out for showing a little cleavage. Can't say the same for Elias though." 

Tim snorted, throwing his head back with a laugh. "Yes, of course. How could I forget? Elias 'No Titty' Bouchard." 

You smacked a hand over your mouth so hard it hurt, pursing your lips together as your whole body shook to contain the shriek of a laugh that threatened to escape you at hearing your direct superior be called thusly as "Elias 'No Titty' Bouchard." 

"Oh God I'm sorry _____." Tim chuckled, watching you struggle to contain yourself. "I didn't think it would get you that bad." 

When you finally managed to open your mouth your voice came out as a fit of snorts and heaved gasps as you attempted to regain control of yourself. (It might also be pertinent to note that throughout this fit you managed to completely miss the look of bright adoration Tim was watching you with.)

"It's fine I just," you took a breath. "Just wasn't expecting it and it just occurred to me-" the giggles kicked back up "-I never stopped recording." 

"Perfect." He grinned, nonplussed and in fact looking rather proud of himself. "Then the others will have something to look forward to when they listen to it." 

"I'll say." You heaved a breath, shaky from laughter, finally getting your fit back under control as you reached to turn off the recorder. "Sorry guys. Recording ends." 

You sniffed, blinking back the tears that had begun to emerge from your fit and looked up at your assistant, who was still positively beaming. "Now that you've almost killed me did you need anything else? Or did you just want me to check you out?" 

"I always want you to check me out." He winked and as per the order of things - you rolled your eyes. 

"But no, actually," his voice dropped slightly, that once sunny grin starting to look more overcast than it had and you found yourself feeling concerned. "I was wondering if you'd heard anymore from Martin? It's been almost two weeks since he's been in. Which is kind of strange considering he normally never misses a day if he can help it." 

"Yeah, it is a bit strange." You frowned. "But no, I haven't heard from him. I texted him like three days ago and he just said he still wasn't feeling well." 

"Guess it would be overstepping boundaries if one of us went to check on him?" 

"Mm." You thought for a moment. "It might be? But knowing Martin he might actually-" 

The door to your office clicked open. 

And as if waiting for his queue, Martin Blackwood himself appeared from behind it. Though something was clearly wrong with him. He looked rather disheveled, chest heaving in small breaths as if he'd just ran all the way to the Institute. His eyes were wild with alarm and he clutched a small cardboard box to his chest. 

"Speak of the devil, there he is!" You said with a short laugh, maintaining your friendly demeanor in case the reason for his appearance related to him having taken such a long break. You wanted him to know you weren't mad, that he wouldn't be penalized for looking after himself. After all he'd been so adamant about you putting yourself above your job. 

Of course at that time you had no way of knowing that his wide, terrified eyes had nothing to do with your hypothetical anger. 

"Hey! Welcome back Martin-" 

But when he ripped off the lid and dropped that cardboard box on your desk - stealing the words right out of Tim's mouth - then. Then you had some idea. 

When you looked down you found that the thing was full of what looked to be small, squashed, silver carcasses that appeared wormlike in nature. 

Seeing what was inside Tim scrambled off of your desk, moving away from it with a disgusted "ugh!" as he did so. 

And while you might not have yelled like he did that wasn't to say you didn't scrape your chair about ten inches back, only to start gagging into your fist, wishing and willing yourself not to be sick all over your office floor as you tried desperately to erase the image of what you had just seen from your mind. 

"Martin! What the hell are these?!" Tim demanded as he gestured to the box, voice uncharacteristically harsh.

"I-I'm so sorry," and you can tell he is by the way he looked at you, watching you try not to lose it with a sympathetic expression on his face. "I ju-just needed evidence! And, and this is all I could think of!" 

"Evidence for _what,_ Martin?" You asked lowly, face uncomfortably screwed up as you gulped down the feeling of bile rising to your throat. 

"For what happened to me! For why I've been gone for two weeks! Did-Did you not notice?" He looked so hurt by the end of his statement you almost didn't have the wherewithal to be confused. 

But you were. You were very confused. 

"Martin you texted me literally just last Monday saying you were still sick. What are you talking about?" 

Tim looked from you to Martin, clearly just as confused. 

And Martin started to look equally as lost as the two of you were. "That's not, that's not possible I, I lost my phone days ago…." 

You locked eyes with Tim. Immediately you can see that the two of you are traveling the same wavelength of curiosity (and perhaps quite a bit of worry as well), both wondering what exactly had gone on since your co-worker had been away. 

The both of you looked back to Martin. 

"Martin, I think you should start from the beginning."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And from his office Elias is frowning quite hard because he has /plenty/ of tiddy, thank you very much.


	5. Colony

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Martin gave you his statement.  
> You feel absolutely horrible.

By the time Martin had finished his statement the guilt welling up inside of you had reached a high enough peak that you thought you might burst. 

You should've checked on him in person. Should've tried to call him or sent for a wellness check. Lord knows what could've happened to him had he not been smart enough to barricade himself inside his flat. Or if, heaven forbid, Prentiss hadn't gone away.

You heaved a shaky breath at the very thought. "Good lord." 

Your eyes traveled up from the desk where you had once been regarding the closed box of dead worms, and instead looked to Martin. "I'm so sorry, Martin. If I'd known I would've called the police or, or something…" 

"I-I know." He managed a tiny smile despite how shaken up he must've been. 

"It's not your fault. I-If anything it's mine but I…" His eyes shifted around the room, looking nervous as he started fidgeting with his hands. "I just didn't think we should let Mr. Vittery's statement go unchecked you know?" 

At that you cocked up an eyebrow at him. "What do you mean? It's not like I was planning on putting it in the discrediteds. I happen to think there's a lot of substance in that statement." 

"N-No, no I know _you_ do but I…" Even though he trailed off, leaving the thought unfinished, you knew exactly what he was trying to say. 

"Oh, Martin." You lowered your voice as a courtesy, even though your recorder was still running and there was every possibility someone else would hear it later. "This isn't about Jon, is it?" 

Martin's eyes shot back to you in embarrassment, cheeks growing warm with a bright, red flush. 

"Aw geez, _Martin-"_

"I know, I _know,_ I just…" 

"Martin." You sighed. "Look, I know he's a bit tough on the statement givers, hell knows he gives me enough trouble for believing most of them, but at the end of the day that's just how he is." You shrugged, knowing full well that even the most solid of evidence was sometimes not enough to convince your colleague. "I make the final call and as much as he might hate it, that's business. The only person you have to worry about convincing is me." 

Martin sighed again, sagging in his seat. "I know, I know, I just… I just don't understand him sometimes. I thought maybe he'd come around if there was photo evidence or something really concrete that he couldn't explain away." 

"I know, believe me I do. But let Jon be Jon and let me worry about him. You've got to start worrying after yourself. _Especially_ now." 

The reminder sent a shiver up his spine. "Right. Right, yeah of course." 

"Now, it's up to you but I really don't feel right sending you back home. If you want there's a spare room in the archives you can stay in until we get this straightened out." You suggested. "It's probably safer than your flat, if I'm honest." 

He blinked at you, seemingly a bit astonished that you would offer such a thing. "Oh. Are, are you sure?" 

You nodded back. "Of course I am. I'd much rather you be here than back home but I won't force you. It's just an option." 

"No, no," he shook his head slightly. "No, I think I'd rather be here as well." 

"Good. In the meantime I'll see if I can get Elias to add some more security and uh-" 

It's at that exact moment your phone buzzed in your pocket. When you finger the thing out and see the message on your screen a deep, cold shiver runs up your spine and fans throughout your whole body.

"That's uh…" You swallowed. "Lovely. Just lovely." 

"What is it?" Martin asked wearily. 

"It's a text from you." 

He straightened up in his chair, biting his lip nervously as you started to read it. 

"Keep him. We have had our fun. He will want to see it when the Archivist’s crimson fate arrives." 

Martin looked at you, dread seeping into every inch of his face. "What does that mean?" 

"I…" A deep chill settled in your fingertips. "Guess it means I might be living in the Archives for a bit myself...." 

You felt...

(And somewhere in the building someone is grinning like a cat who got the cream because you were, for all intents and purposes-)

Absolutely terrified.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Of course Martin still has a big gay crush on Jon, he just happens to have a big gay crush on you too (and most of his co-workers because it's my city now LOL)


	6. Time Distorted

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's amazing and quite frightening how quickly things can change.

True to form, you did indeed start spending a considerable amount of time more at the Archives. 

Feeling rattled and worried made for a poor mix to walk home alone at night and even though some evenings Sasha and Tim would walk you to your train, other nights you were just too nervous to leave. 

Of course after the worms started squeezing inside, there was another issue on your conscience altogether. 

Martin. 

You didn't exactly feel right leaving him all alone in the Archives after what had happened, and even though he'd pester you to go home and get some sleep you couldn't bring yourself to leave, often collapsing on the beat up sofa of your office instead. 

Sleep only seemed to come once you were exhausted, spent from a long night grinding through statements to try and find anything that could help deal with Prentiss and her worms, short of seeking her out and lighting her ablaze as Timothy Hodge had done with Harriet Lee. 

You hoped it wouldn't come to that but even still, you made sure to keep a pack of matches on you just in case. 

It was…. frightening how commonplace this routine of squashing worms and pulling all nighters had become, especially amongst the more mundane details of your life. 

One day you could be joking around with Sasha about the pronunciation of the word calliope: 

"I thought it was pronounced calli-oh-pe?" She had said, practically inducing you into cardiac arrest as she'd come into your office while you were in the middle of recording a statement - an activity that seemed to capture all of your attention. 

"Is it?" You asked, blinking at her. "I don't think I've ever heard it spoken now that I think about it." 

"So your brain decided on calli-ohp?" She smirked, mocking you softly with that glint in her eyes. 

"Oh, shut up." You rolled your eyes. "Let me live." 

She just laughed in return. 

And yet, not even a month later, the next time she was sitting in your office was because she'd almost been killed by another damn worm monster. 

"Are you sure you're okay, Sash?" You'd asked, looking her over for any signs of injury. Luckily, other than the fact she was pretty shaken up emotionally, there didn't seem to be any marks or wounds on her. 

"Yeah, I'll be fine." She dismissed, waving her hand. "Besides I want to get this out while it's fresh in my mind." 

She told you about Michael, about how he -- it -- had spoken of your death, and that it wanted to "help" avoid it if possible. She told you about Timothy Hodge. How the fire extinguisher at the bar had killed off the worms. 

"I should quit, you know?" She said, a quiet kind of fear you'd never seen before mulling in her eyes. "We all should." 

"I know." You nodded. Then sighed. 

You knew she was right and yet you also knew all the same that you couldn't take her advice. There was something inside of you that wouldn't let you leave. Every thought of leaving, of quitting, was replaced with a pulsing need to keep going. It felt like you were being yanked along by a thick tether to continue following this investigation into Prentiss and the anomalies surrounding her. You _needed_ to see through to it that there was a resolution to what she had started. For your own sanity, if anything else. 

"I don't think I can." You breathed softly. "But I certainly won't blame you if you do quit, Sash." And you meant it. If anything you almost wished she would so that she wouldn't be in harm's way. 

But she just looked at you, her eyes softly pleading with you in the silence of your office before she rips her gaze down to the desk, sighing roughly. "No. No, I suppose I can't either. I guess I'm just too damn curious." 

"Makes two of us, I guess." You smiled weakly. "Go home and get some rest, Sash. I'm sure you could probably use it." 

"Yeah, I probably should…" Though she said those words she made no move to go, instead her eyes flittered up from the desk and back to yours. 

"What about you? Will you be alright?" She asked, searching your tired eyes for an answer. "This is the second time the safety of your own life has been called into question. I'm sure this can't be easy for you." 

You huffed a breath of air out of your nose, shrugging. "It's daunting sure but compared to what you and Martin have been through I'd say some threats don't really hold a candle." 

She frowned at that. "I don't really think it's a contest." 

"I didn't mean it like that." You frowned back. "I just mean that I think I'm more worried for you guys than I am myself."

"I think you should be just as worried for yourself. This isn't exactly normal, you know?" 

"No, no I know. And I am, just, maybe not as much outwardly? It's been far easier to focus on finding out as much as I can to keep everyone safe." 

"Alright well…" She sighed again. "Just don't kill yourself, yeah? We are here to help, after all." 

You smiled at her, a bit brighter than before. "I know, Sasha. Thank you, really." 

You pushed out your chair and got to a standing, holding out your hand for her to take. "Now, let's get you to your train, yeah? You could use a few days off." 

She rolled her eyes, a tiny smile slipping onto her face despite herself as she reached out and took your hand. "You know you're impossible, right?" 

You grinned cheekily back at her as you pulled her gently to a standing. 

"So I've been told." 

Maybe it wasn't expressly clear in that moment as you and Tim - who had been waiting at his desk when you left the office - walked Sasha to her station; but perhaps in the end being impossible (being prone to caring too much) might've been just the edge you needed to make it through all of this. 

Just maybe. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me: make the reader as ambiguous as possible  
> Also me, on my way to insert my tendency to care waaay et too much about other people: 💃💃💃💃


	7. Skintight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Melanie King comes to give a statement.

If there was anything you'd learned in your decidedly short time alive it was that people who work in entertainment often aren't who they are on screen in real life - especially Youtubers. 

And yet Melanie King was almost exactly as you might've expected her to be when you met her. She certainly was still just as gorgeous on and off screen, as well as expectedly bold considering one of the first comments she made towards you was about your tape recorder. 

"You want me to talk into that? You're joking." 

You almost sighed, very much not in the mood for the attitude. But it stood to reason if you were polite about it she would hopefully either make her statement and leave or just leave. So you kept it together with a well placed, if not slightly sarcastic, smile. 

"Hey, look, I get it. It's definitely different but this is what we use here. If that puts you off then you're welcome to write down your statement instead. I can even leave to give you some privacy." 

She seemed almost surprised at your response, like she'd been expecting or perhaps even _looking_ for some kind of argument. Which in and of itself wasn't a strange concept considering the Institute tended to butt heads with practically every other facet of paranormal investigation.

It was a strange thing really, how even people within the same field of work didn't _quite_ think the Institute was legitimate enough, despite the extensive amount of both public and private documentation it held on supernatural phenomena. You supposed it had something to do with the statement process - with your new job - as anyone was allowed to give one. But far be it from you to waste time trying to figure out the politics of all of it. 

"I…" Melanie started, clearly at a bit of a loss. "No, that's fine, I just wasn't expecting it I guess. Thought this place might have caught up with modern day technology, you know?" 

The catty tone isn't helpful but you're able to keep it together. 

"I'm the one who has to use it half the time, how do you think I feel?" You snorted, again seeming to catch her off guard. "But anyway, to answer your question we do use laptops and what not but we get some weird interference when recording on them sometimes." 

Of course that wasn't the whole truth, but she didn't need to know that as even you were still piecing it together.

"I think it might just be a bad signal or because the building is a bit older but the tape recorders don't seem to suffer the same issues so we use them instead, to be safe." 

You wore a polite smile, hoping your next point might diffuse the disagreement altogether. "And I mean after all you guys occasionally use radios on your show, right? What are they called, er-" you clicked your fingers uselessly a couple of times before "-spirit boxes! That's them, right?" 

"You mean you actually watch our show?" She scoffed in a way that would indicate disbelief on her part. 

"Sometimes." You shrugged. "Don't watch much of anything these days, though. Usually I'm here." 

_Yes, here. Getting harassed by worms and statement givers alike_ , you thought. 

"Right…" she said slowly. 

"Anyway, with all that aside, would you like to get started?" You asked, hopeful that this would be the end of one conversation and the start of another. 

"Might as well, I guess."

"Good! Statement of Melanie King of Ghost Hunt UK regarding…" 

"What I saw at the abandoned Cambridge Military Hospital when we were filming there in January 2015." 

"Statement begins." 

And off she went. 

___________________

There's always a very real, very striking fear in people's eyes and in their voice when they give a statement to you in person. You'd noticed it first with Naomi Herne and watched it follow through with both Martin and Sasha when they gave their statements. 

Had two of them not been people you knew you could trust part of you might've thought you were just being overly sympathetic but there was something about the quiver in Melanie's voice as she described this woman who'd joined her crew, stapling her skin back together that made you want to believe her. 

"The episode came out okay, in the end though, um, though I didn’t include anything about what I saw that night." She finished, in a much smaller voice than when she had started. 

"Can't say I blame you." You said softly, arms still folded on your desk as they had been since she started speaking. "Sounds like a lot to unpack." 

"Yeah. Er, so… what do you make of it?" She asked. 

"Right now there's not much to make of but we'll look over the footage you provided and see what we can find." You replied, then added. "I believe you though, if that's what you're asking." 

She clearly wasn't expecting that if the raise of her eyebrow and the widening of her eyes was anything to go off of. "You do?" 

"Sure. Seen my fair share of weird stuff working here." 

After all, if a worm-hive-woman-thing could exist in reality then you weren't quite sure how far fetched a woman stapling her skin back in place really was. 

"Right. Well… thank you, I guess?" 

"No problem." You smiled softly. "We'll let you know if we find anything or if we need any additional information." 

"Alright. Um, guess I'll be on my way then." She said, almost unsure of what else to do as she slowly got to a standing. 

"Certainly. Thank you for your time, Ms. King." 

"Melanie." She corrected, though oddly not in a harsh or sarcastic way. "You can just call me Melanie." 

"Very well, Melanie it is." 

"You've got a name?" She asked, cracking a crooked smile. 

"Oh, yeah, actually -" you gestured to the small plaque on your desk "- that would be it." 

You didn't really try to suppress the cheeky grin that came as she rolled her eyes.

"Right. I'll keep that in mind. Have a good day then, _____." 

"You too, Melanie." 

Then she left, opening and closing the door behind her. 

There was no way for you to know that wouldn't be the last time you'd see her. 

But given what was waiting for you right around the corner, it seemed there was quite a lot you had no way of knowing about. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I generally wanted to focus on the OG archive crew + Gerry and Michael as far as romantic interests but we can be a little gay for Melanie as a treat LOL


	8. Yet You Could Not See

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You find Jane's statement in the mess of boxes that is the archived files. 
> 
> It makes you feel... sick, if anything else.

You were… tired. 

Perhaps so frightened and worried that it bled into an exhaustion that you couldn't keep from showing outwardly. You weren't sure how worried you still were for your own life, but the concern for the lives of your colleagues was enough to keep you up at night. Keep you working well past your designated shift. 

Coincidentally, that was when you found Jane Prentiss' statement. 

It was one late evening after having dug around in the boxes in the storage room for what felt like hours. When you saw her name printed at the top your skin crawled almost as if on reflex. 

"It is not a god. Or if it is then it is a dead god, decayed and clammy corpse-flesh brimming with writhing graveworms." You read, feeling everything inside of you convulse and shiver with disgust, with… some kind of fear you'd grown used to but never quite accepted. Not even after you came to the Institute. 

Something about that depiction felt so… familiar. This idea of a dead god. Had you always felt like that, like there were other gods? Or had you called that thing a monster when you first saw it? 

"There is no right word because for all your Institute and ignorance may laud the power of the word, it cannot even stretch to fully capture what I feel in my bones." 

Familiar. Dreadfully familiar.

And then you felt the sensation of eyes on the back of your neck. But that almost didn't compare to what you'd seen. The thing that had driven you to the Institute in the first place. 

"Statement ends." You breathed. "I'm… that was a lot harder to read than I thought it would be to be honest. I've read plenty of statements that clearly show the giver is distressed in recounting their tale and rightly so but… I don't know, this feels so different." 

_So personal_ , you thought. 

You sighed, deep and heavy. "Anyway, that aside, this does at least provide some context to Jane's wellbeing before she went into the hospital, as well as why she was fired from her job. Unfortunately that's… all we have for now. Aside from recent developments of course but… I suppose we'll have to see what becomes of all that. Recording Ends." 

You clicked the tape recorder off and slumped against your desk, letting the aching, heavy weight of your body sag against the thing. 

You didn't know what to do, how to feel. 

The air in your office felt so heavy, like a jacket with its pockets stuffed full of rocks was hanging on your shoulders, like every ounce of energy you had was being sucked away, consumed by some unseen thing. Leaving you a mess of questions and concerns and nowhere to put them all. 

"The hell am I going to do?" You mumbled into the old, mahogany wood of your desk, arms crossed to cradle your heavy head. 

You could feel your eyelids threatening to betray you, fluttering closed and then snapping back open at your insistence. Though you couldn't say for sure why you were even struggling so much to stay awake. It's not as if there was anything to find, not for the rest of that night anyway. 

And even if you did, were you really in a state to process anything else? 

As the argument was taking place in your brain you almost missed the gentle, low hum coming from outside your door. The garbled noise that was your thoughts paused only long enough for you to hear the soft melody through a crack in the crowd of your mind chatter but by that point your focus switched from whatever you’d been thinking about to the sound, fixated on it. 

It took you a second to realize what it was - who it was. You thought perhaps it might’ve been Martin trying to entertain himself, to make noise in the often eerie quiet of the archives but as you listened closer there was no mistaking whose voice was singing so gently just outside your door. 

It was Jon.

His voice is a low timbre, one easily recognizable after all your time having worked with him. 

You can’t quite make out what he’s singing but you’re surprised to note that it doesn’t exactly sound like an old timey song like you would’ve expected from him. By the rhythm and the few words you can make out it sounds more like a modern folk song, like something you might’ve heard from Steampowered Giraffe or Celtic Woman. Yet the closer you listened, the tone seemed darker, more bleak, and so you found it hard to believe it was either of the aforementioned bands. 

He paused for a moment, only a moment, and as he began what you believed to be a new song you thought you might’ve heard the lyrics: “A broken man lies in the rust, that stained his whole life through.” 

Somehow it felt… oddly appropriate. 

Though the song only seemed to grow ever more bleak as it left his lips, something about it is calming. Maybe it’s his voice, you thought, or maybe it’s the message - at least what you can make of it - but all the same it somehow felt more like a lullaby than it probably should have. 

And your eyes started to close. 

You wanted to stay awake, to be a part of this rare moment in which Jon is not being snarky with you about statements or about Martin, but instead is calm and - dare you say it - even comforting in the oddest sense of the word. But your tired body, your weary heart and rusted bones have other ideas for you. They want to sleep, they want to rest. 

And your eyes closed. 

And with Jon’s voice floating through the door - you at last fell asleep. 

______________________

The feeling of a tender hand on your shoulder should not have scared you as much as it did. But being roused from a deep and terrible nightmare is hardly something easily broken out of, especially when that nightmare is a thing you seem to know so intimately despite having only _read_ about it.

So when the cycle broke and you felt that hand on your shoulder, pulling you back into reality with a caring caress you practically jolted out of your seat, scaring not only yourself but also the other occupant that had joined you in your office. 

You recognized who the soft yelp belonged to but you were all at once too hazy and confused to even address it when you came reeling out of unconsciousness, covering your face with your hands as the dim light from your office is even too much for you right out of the gate. 

But the owner of the voice spoke up anyway, full of apologies and meek tones as he watched you slide your hands down your face, trying to shake yourself of whatever horrible thing you’d been witnessing just moments ago. 

“Jesus, I’m sorry, ____. I-I wasn’t trying to scare you.” 

“No, I know, Martin.” You sighed, voice slightly slurred from the haze that was your coordination at that moment. “Just… was having a really bad nightmare. Probably would’ve scared myself out of sleep if you hadn’t.” 

“Oh…” the sympathy in his voice is loud even with just one syllable. “I’m sorry. That sounds awful.”

“It’s…” you trailed off, trying to get yourself in focus, blinking away the irritation of your eyes readjusting to the light. “It’s okay. Don’t worry about it.” 

“Did you…” he hesitated for a moment. “Did you want to talk about it?” 

“No, no.” You shook your head then turned to look at him with a weak smile. He does indeed look as concerned as he sounded when you finally do. “I’ll be alright, Martin. Thank you though.”

“Oh… yeah.” He seemed at a loss, frowning softly. “No problem.” 

“Anyway,” you started, now a bit more awake and a bit more aware of your situation. “Sorry I was asleep on the job. Did you need something?” 

“Oh, no, no, actually -” he gestured to a cup on your desk - a cup that was certainly not normally there, mind you - filled with gently steaming liquid “- I came to check on you. I noticed you hadn’t left the building or even your office for some time so I made you some tea. Figured you could use it.” 

Your heart felt warm. Warmer than it had, certainly.

“Aw, thanks Martin.” You smiled at him endearingly. “That’s super sweet of you.”

“Well, I mean,” the inevitable flush began to paint his cheeks. “It’s the least I can do, really. I mean, considering everything…” 

It was hard to miss the guilt in his eyes, and you couldn’t help frowning at it. 

“Martin…” you started, adopting the same almost-parental tone that he would when trying to get you to look after yourself. “I told you to stop blaming yourself for this. It was an accident. And after reading her statement I’m not entirely convinced she wouldn’t have come after the Institute of her own accord anyway.” 

His eyes went wide, though not for the reason you had at first assumed. “W-Wait, you found her statement?” 

Oh. Right. You passed out before you had a chance to tell anyone. 

“Oh, yeah, a little earlier, before I fell asleep.” You blinked. “It was at the bottom of one of the boxes practically, drowning underneath a sea of other statements.” You huffed, that proverbial annoyance you had taken with Gertrude’s organization skills - or lack thereof - rising to the top of your tongue. “You’d think that one would’ve been a little more accessible.” 

“Did it… did it help at all? Did she say anything?” He asked with an expression that neither read as hopeful or curious. If anything he looked worried. 

"Not really." You replied, reaching out to grab the cup of tea as Martin walked around your desk to take a seat in the chair on the other side of it. “If anything it just made me feel worse for her. She sounded like she was really going through it." 

"Yeah?" 

"Yeah. She… she seemed so scared. I mean who could blame her really, but… it's one thing to think about and another entirely to know exactly what she was thinking. How she was… losing control of everything." 

And perhaps that hit just a touch too close to home for you. 

Martin frowned, uneasy. "Guess that makes sense. Whatever happened to her it… didn't exactly look _fun_." 

"No, I suppose not." You breathed, finally pressing the cup in your hands to your lips and taking a sip. As the liquid hit your tongue you realized it was a flavour you weren't quite sure you'd had before. It was sweet, clearly mixed with sugar but also oddly comforting. Which was saying something given you'd been in an eternal state of "being uncomfortable" for months now.

“But anyway…” You looked to Martin as you set the cup down. “What are you doing up so late, it’s -” you looked at the clock on the wall, grimacing when you realized it was almost one o’clock in the morning. “- shit, it’s that late already?” 

“Sure is.” He chuckled dryly. 

“Well, guess it’s another office sofa night for me.” You shrugged, almost incapable of feeling too much remorse for not being able to get home. It’s not like you weren’t constantly panicking when you were there anyway, unable to feel safe in the comfort of your own home given what was happening at the Institute, afraid that maybe it would follow you home like it did Martin. 

“Is Jon still here? Or did he head home?” You asked as the thought dawned on you, the sound of his voice playing gently in the back of your mind. 

“Oh, yeah, he left around ten, I think. Actually, he’s the one who told me you were sleeping.” 

_Oh._

You were going to hear about that tomorrow, weren’t you?

“Brilliant.” You snorted softly. “Surprised he didn’t try to wake me up, honestly.” 

“Believe it or not I think he wanted you to get some rest.” Martin tried with a small, encouraging smile. “He said something to the effect of -” he adopted his best impression of Jon for the next part (which was actually rather spot on in your opinion) “ - ‘honestly they’re going to work themself into an early grave if they keep at it like this.’ Which in Jon-speak probably means he’s worried?” 

You rolled your eyes, smiling somehow despite yourself. Perhaps the idea of him being worried about you made you a bit more happy than you were willing to admit. “Maybe. It’s hard to tell with Jon. Also, pot calling the kettle black much? He’s been staying almost as late as I have for the last month.” 

“I know, I know.” Martin chuckled quietly. “Try telling that to him though. He’d probably insist that it’s necessary he stay given what’s going on.” 

“That’s almost exactly what he _did_ say when I told him to go home one night last week. Took me about five minutes to convince him to leave. Thought I was going to have to pick him up and throw him out the door.”

Which was entirely a possibility considering Jon weighed about as much as a toothpick. 

"Yeah, sounds about right." Martin chuckled.

"Yuuup. Anyway, enough about Jon," you decided. "How are you doing? Why up so late?" 

"Oh, uhm…" He fidgeted with his fingers as though you'd caught him off guard. "Just couldn't sleep, really. Too busy thinking about… everything, I guess." He admitted. 

You couldn't help but feel for him, relate to him. Worrying yourself sick had been practically all you'd been doing the past few months. 

"Yeah, I get it." 

A moment of quiet passed between the two of you, your heavy breaths and deeply beating hearts the only sounds amongst the two of you for a while. 

Martin regarded the cup of tea he'd made for you, sitting on the desk getting cold. You thought maybe he would excuse himself to heat it up, as he often did when he felt he was being a bother. But instead his lingering eyes turned up at you, questioning, somehow almost... yearning. 

"Do you… do you think everything is going to be okay?" And before you can even think to answer he tacks on a "I, I know obviously there's no happy ending at the end of the rainbow type of _okay_ but…" 

_Do you think we'll make it out alive?_

He doesn't ask but you can hear the unspoken question all the same. You can hear it in his voice, see it in the eyes that look so close to tears that won't fall because he's trying to have more dignity in front of his boss.

His boss…

And it dawns on you that Martin is looking to _you_ for guidance. This is the moment where you're supposed to be reassuring, to tell him it'll be alright. 

But you don't know that it will. 

"….."

But you don't know that it _won't_. 

You took a breath and looked deep into his eyes in the most confident way you could muster. "I think so. Somehow, I think it'll be alright. Perhaps it's not super apparent right now but that's why we're working, why we're still here trying to figure it all out to make sure that it _does_ turn out okay. And I know I'll do whatever I can to get to that outcome." 

The words came spilling out of your mouth from the most honest place in your heart. You think that maybe that's why you found the resolution to sound so hopefully sure of yourself, of your team, despite all you'd been feeling that night alone. 

Martin in turn seemed to let out a breath he'd been holding, the rigidness in his posture softening as he listened to your words - to the positive reassurance he hadn't even realized he needed. His eyes turned down to his fidgeting hands and then back up at you. 

"You really think so?" 

You nodded (somehow sagely from Martin's perspective.) "I do. Things have a way of turning out alright, I think. After all, we're all still alive." 

"Right." Then softer. "Right." 

Martin is quiet for a bit. Then - 

"Thank you." And you can see in his eyes that he means it. 

You smiled warmly at him. "No problem, Martin. I'm always here anytime you need me." 

A flush of red you weren't _quite_ expecting to see covered his cheeks, a small, bashful smile to accompany it.

It was adorable. 

"Thank you." He repeated. Then looked down to the mug on your desk, tea long since having gotten cold. 

"Let me get you another cup of tea, yeah? Maybe chamomile this time to help you get back to sleep?" 

"Sure, if you don't mind. That would be lovely." 

"Not at all." Martin rose from his chair and picked up the mug. "I'll be right back." 

"Thank you!" You called gently, shifting to watch him as he made his way to the door. 

It's almost a sin when your arm brushed against a stack of papers, knocking what had been an organized bundle of information into a cascade of now unorganized information that fanned out over your desk. 

It's almost a sin because as you turned your attention to your klutziness with a hushed swear, you managed to miss the way Martin stopped and looked at you just before he left the office, hand paused on the door handle. 

The way his eyes gently shined with affection and his smile grew fond. 

But it was there all the same, whether you noticed or not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So maybe not quite The-Mechanisms-were-Jons-college-band and more so maybe Jon taught himself how to play guitar and borrowed Georgie's recording equipment to make a few albums?? Really it's up to y'all to interpret because I'm not sure it'll come back up but I just wanted Jon serenading his sleep deprived boss to sleep but the only way S1 Jon is gonna do that is unwittingly LOL 
> 
> Also I won't specify whatever drove the reader to the Institute because I know most of us have our opinions about what entities we'd be marked the deepest by (it's The End, The Lonely and a sprinkle of The Spiral for taste for me, if you were curious LOL) . Also also the encounter could've been in a dream rather than reality, but felt real enough that it still haunts you, yeah? Idk I tried to keep it ambiguous enough that you could imagine it being whatever. 
> 
> Anyway, I think that's it? 
> 
> Oh! Actually. I made a tumblr after years of not having one. I don't post much but if you guys wanna drop me asks or w/e feel free to! My tumblr is @gerry-rigged


	9. Wolf in a Three Piece Suit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You have a chat with Elias about the lack of precautions you feel he's taking. 
> 
> He's good at making it a non-issue.

You'd never liked having to ask management for things. 

With practically any job you had worked, most of your requests were met with plastic smiles and empty promises of "we'll see what we can do about that" before being ushered off back to work. Weeks would pass and nothing would change, no updates given, and after a while you would give up trying to get what you wanted - or sometimes you'd just forget, knowing it was all pointless anyway. That you'd just have to suffer. 

But that was for more mundane things like trying to get off for Christmas or trying to switch your afternoon shifts to morning ones because it would be easier on you. 

However, when the issue at hand had to do with the mortality of yourself and your co-workers - well, you didn't mind arguing with management in that regard.

"Is there really nothing else we can do?"

Even if your pleas are met with a despondent stare, like you're taking up his time. 

"As I told you before we are expending all available resources for dealing with this infestation. There's not much else we can do." 

"Even though it's Prentiss?" You threw up an eyebrow. "Surely the police have been looking for her since the incident at the hospital?" 

"The problem is that we don't know for sure that it's Prentiss, or even where she is for that matter." 

"Elias, are you _kidding_ me? After what both Martin and Sasha saw? What's been going on for the last few months? It's pretty obvious she's around here somewhere and if we're proactive about finding her then-" 

"Then we might just get more people injured." Elias cut in with a stern look in his emerald green eyes. It was a look that used to shut you up immediately before you got used to arguing with him. "Or worse, killed." 

"So, what, we just wait until she busts in here and kills _us_ then? Is that it?" You hissed, trying not to go off on him right there. 

"We have taken every precaution we can. If Jane Prentiss were to infiltrate the archives I believe we'll be able to handle it. We have a surplus of fire extinguishers and I've even had the fire suppression system changed to use carbon dioxide. Should she show up, presumably all we'd need is to evacuate the building and pull the release." He explained, far too calm and level headed for your liking. 

"Right. Sure." Short, curt, and disbelieving. If his nonchalant demeanor didn't aggravate you before, it certainly did then. 

"Look," he sighed, clearly composing himself for a lecture. "I realise this must be a lot for you. You're in a new position, with new responsibilities and people looking to you for guidance. I can see how that must be stressful." 

You resisted the urge to roll your eyes, instead pressing your tongue against the back of your teeth. 

Perhaps the problem was that you were well aware he must've known how you were feeling at one point in his life - after all he ran the Institute - and yet seemed entirely unsympathetic to your position. As the one person you could go to for help you just wished he could've been the _least_ bit reassuring. 

"The best thing for you now would be to focus on your work and keep a calm attitude for your colleagues. If they see you falter they might unravel themselves and if an attack does come about that would be rather unhelpful."

_Oh yes, wonderful advice, Elias._ You thought, sourly. It was all you could do to keep from the words actually coming out of your mouth. 

"So, that's it then? Just wait?" 

"For now, I'm afraid so." 

A pause. Then a disgruntled sigh. 

You could tell when you were hitting a brick wall and even if you were to fight back you knew Elias had a certain talent in being able to change the topic or dismissing you completely. So really, what was the point? 

"Okay." You rose from your seat. "But if we all wind up dead at least pay for my cremation(/funeral), yeah?" 

Elias scoffed lightly at that. "I hardly think that will be necessary. Have a bit of optimism, will you?" 

You rolled your eyes that time, now unabashed in showing your displeasure at how he was handling the situation. "Uh-huh. Sure. Have a good afternoon, Elias." 

You turned to go, soon exiting through his office door in a quiet huff. 

The door closed behind you and Elias was once again left in his office, alone, neatly organised spreadsheets in small piles around his desk. He stared at the door, folding his hands together. 

With no one around to see it but the very master he served, a sinister smile slipped over his face. 

You could be sure that Elias would have his hands in whatever remained of you after the inevitable infestation, be it bones or ashes - though he would much prefer you come out of it alive and in tact. He wanted his souvenir to be able to think and feel, to continue to be marked by the invisible web he was weaving. All he could hope for was that the Web itself wouldn't interfere in a way that would unravel his plans, because if it did there would be little he could do to rectify it. 

But for now, things we're going fine - according to plan, even. 

And he wanted to see what you'd do when the tide turned. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Had to have Elias in here being a creepy bastard as usual. 
> 
> But soon it will be worm time 👀
> 
> Come yell at/with me on Tumblr if you'd like!! I'm @gerry-rigged
> 
> Also feel free to ask me questions!


	10. Infestation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You weren't there when the dam broke, but you certainly paid for it after the fact.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: This is the Jane Prentiss infiltration episode so be warned of - canon typical worms, being attacked by canon typical worms, descriptions of holes/trypophobia, being chased and almost dying.

You weren't there when the dam finally broke.

You had been upstairs with Tim, checking out an odd looking table that had been delivered to the Institute some days ago, one that had appeared in one of your first handfuls of statements about a year ago, if it's appearance was anything to go off of.

"It's quite pretty, isn't it?" Tim asked within the dim quiet of the room, drawing your attention from the trance it had caught you in and back to the man standing at your side.

"Yes, very, actually." You agreed, though not without a bit of hesitancy. "Of course if it does what's mentioned in that statement with Graham Folger… we might want to mark it off, just in case."

"Guess that's fair. Wouldn't want any unwitting employees being change-linged." Tim said with a smirk, tone a bit more joking than you normally had room to tolerate.

" _Tim_."

"I know, I know. Sorry boss."

"It's fine I just-" you let out a haggard breath. "-I just don't like how it was delivered. The fact that it showed up at the Archives, in my office, instead of the delivery dock just rubs me the wrong way. And there's so many statements about these two weird delivery men just showing up with unwitting horrors and I just-"

"Woah, woah, woah." Tim softly interrupted, putting his hands on your shoulders. "Hey look, I know it's been a lot."

You nearly came apart right then as his fingers started rubbing circles into the deep knots in your joints.

"But you need to calm down a little. This is the most worked up I've ever seen you. I know you're worried but we're all still here, unharmed. Worms notwithstanding of course."

You managed a soft snort at that, a hand raised to rub at the side of your head in an effort to calm the anxious tears you could feel gathering behind your eyes. If you were going to have a panic attack it wasn't going to be here in artefact storage, that was for damn sure. Even if Tim made you feel safe enough to have a breakdown practically anywhere - which was saying a lot, quite frankly.

"I know, I know. I just… ugh…"

Words were lost to you as you continued trying to keep yourself together.

"It's hard…"

"Hey, I know. I can't imagine the stress you must be under. But you've got to relax as best you can." You could hear it in his voice that he was looking at you with that sweet, encouraging look but you couldn't stop looking at the floor, afraid that if you looked at him he'd see just how vulnerable you were.

"Tell you what, let's go get lunch, my treat, and we'll come back to this after, yeah?"

You were quiet for a second, then nodded smally, feeling akin to a little kid getting taken out for ice cream after a tantrum.

You sniffed softly. "Okay…"

Tim chuckled gently at that, smoothing strands of hair out of your face as you finally looked into those bright, caring eyes of his.

"That's my archivist." He beamed, lacing a hand into your own. "I left my wallet at my desk so we'll just have to grab it real quick."

Tim's hand in your own felt like an anchor as he pulled you along, tethering together the ship that was the last vestiges of your strength to keep a brave face.

It was a good thing you'd known what that felt like before the two of you got downstairs.  
_____________

Everything is unassuming when you first get down there. The archives looked much the same as when you left them, not a worm in sight. So you hardly felt any cause to be alarmed.

Except at least until Tim noticed a tape recorder sitting on the floor down the hall from your office.

“Hang on, how did this get here?” He asked, leaning down to pick up the thing. “Did you drop this on your way out?”

“No.” You stared questioningly at the device. “I don’t normally carry them around with me so…”

"Hm. Maybe Jon was trying to steal one, yeah?" He joked.

"Could be." You laughed. "Though he normally let's me know when he needs to listen to a statement."

Which was rather odd considering now that you actually looked around the room, Jon was nowhere to be found. In fact, none of your assistants, save for Tim, were anywhere to be found.

Curious and maybe still a little weary, you turned around to look down the other end of the hall, see if maybe any of your assistants would be coming back down from the upper floors of the Institute.

It was the strangest thing, how it felt like you were moving in slow motion as you did, how time seemed to slow down just for this moment where you were seemingly doing something so trivial as turning, as swiveling your head to look in a new direction.

But when you saw what was waiting for you at the other end of that hallway, you knew why.

Sasha was right. Hearing about something really didn't compare to seeing it, to smelling it. Every inch of your skin wanted to slide off of your bones and take off running as you're left standing there, paralyzed by the thing in front of you.

Your voice was practically a whisper when it came out. "Tim…"

Tim, who had been fiddling with the recorder, looked up, and the soft chuckling that had been coming from him immediately silenced as his eyes landed on the very thing you were stuck looking at.

"Run…"

But neither of you moved, glued to the floor.

That mass of holes and worms and filth shifted ever closer to you, croaking out something about a song.

All at once something burst from within you. You didn't know if it was adrenaline or fear or what but you swiveled on your feet and started pushing Tim down the opposite end of the hall.

"RUN!"

It took him a second but when Tim got his bearings he grabbed onto your hand, taking off down the hall at a sprint with you close behind. Neither of you knew where you were going or where you hoped to get to. One of the exits maybe? That would've been your first choice. But with everything happening as fast as it was, you didn't argue when Tim turned sharply into your office, dragging you in with him.

At least that was until you saw what was inside.

Every inch of your office was crawling with those slimy, silver worms. There was no surface that went uninhabited by them. Your desk, your chair, hell they were even all over the bookcase in the corner, the thing now toppled over.

A wave of them jumped at the both of you and while you knew Tim was only trying to help, he yanked you out of their path in such a way that not only caused you to lose your footing but also to topple into him, knocking the both of you onto the ground. Or at least _you_ ended up on the ground. Tim ended up in a box of case files.

A very… hard box of case files?

By all accounts the box should've given out under the weight of Tim's body collapsing onto it, but instead you heard the deep _thunk_ of what sounded like metal when he fell into it (letting out a strained groan of pain as he did.)

"What the hell was that!? Are you alright?" You yelled as you got to your feet, stamping at the worms as they came ever more in droves out of… a hole in the wall?

You hadn't noticed it when you first came in, far too preoccupied by the mass of silver, flesh eating worms covering your office but there it was, a hole, and it looked like it might've even led somewhere judging by how deep the abyss behind it seemed to stretch.

"What are these doing in here?"

When you looked you found that Tim had uncovered an entire box of what looked to be fire extinguishers.

"Did you put these in here?"

"No! No, I didn't!" But you certainly thanked whatever higher power thought to give whoever the idea to do it in your stead, because it was the only thing that was going to save you.

Especially when the worms backed you into a corner.

Tim took action immediately, yanking one the gas canisters out of the box and pulling the pin on it. As the jet of gas shot out you thought to cover your face with your arms but the smell still got into your nose, burning down into your chest, causing you to start coughing as it did.

You were sure you heard Tim yell out an apology but you couldn't help but think it wasn't warranted. You would've taken being doused in CO2 over eaten alive by flesh eating worms any day.

It was in that vein that the minute you could move again you darted over to the box and grabbed your own canister, joining Tim in pumping your office almost completely full of gas.

But the worms kept coming and coming in droves and waves no matter what you did. They squirmed in through the small gap underneath your door, through the cracks in the wall, and it wasn't as if you could go back out into the archives where Prentiss was waiting. That was almost assuredly a quicker death than whatever was in your office. Than whatever was pouring out of the hole.

The hole…

The grim realisation started to set in that the only way you and Tim had any chance of getting out alive was through that hole in the wall.

"We have to go, Tim!" You called as you darted back over to the box, pulling out another canister.

Tim followed suit, quick to catch on as he loaded up two more canisters in his arms and the two of you fled into that hole in the wall - into the tunnels.

It was dark inside, and far too dark to see much of anything once you had run far enough inside that the residual light of your office no longer peaked in from behind you. Both you and Tim thought to turn the torch from your phones on but even then the darkness seemed thick and unending.

So did the tunnels for that matter.

They seemed to turn every which way, in every possible direction. Straight, even ground would suddenly become a steep incline upwards only to then descend into a deep drop down again, evening out at the exact point where you started to wonder if you could even keep going any farther down. Everything felt warped and twisted and you could only barely keep track of where you were going - if you were even keeping track at all.

The only upside appeared to be that despite it being likely that this was where they squirmed in from, there was a considerable amount less of the worms in the tunnels.

Of course that didn't mean there weren't any. And you very much realized that as you passed a particular corridor.

It seemed so unassuming at first, just a room in the corner of a corridor. But as you got closer, drawn somehow to it, you started to see, with a nauseating clarity, what was hiding in the darkness, squirming and squelching about.

"What the fuck is that…"

Just like your office, this room was covered in worms, only these worms seemed to be… doing something. Your eyes traced over them, watching as they wrapped their bodies around each other, forming a network of fleshy links that suspended into the air to create what looked to be a misshapen archway.

Or perhaps you should've called a spade a spade.

It looked like a door.

"Not sure I like that…" You whispered back to Tim, eyes still glued to the sight before you.

Tim took a few steps forward, aiming one of his canisters at the architecture of worms and after a moment you did the same.

When the cloud of gas came out the worms shrivel and die in much the same way as the others. There was nothing that set them apart from the hoard you had just seen in your office, from the ones you'd been seeing for weeks around the Institute. But as the worms suspended in the air start to come apart, tens of hundreds of them falling to the ground with a sickening squelch, you can't help but feel like you've interrupted something important, like you saw something you shouldn't have.

Frankly, when the last worm fell dead, you were almost glad for it.

"C'mon…"

Each of you being down a gas canister meant there were empty hands again, and those empty hands found each other as the two of you were again left to wander the sprawling expanse of the tunnels. Lost again in what was practically total darkness.

But at least you had each other.  
__________

You weren't sure how long it was before Tim spoke up, his voice joining the sound of your footsteps echoing about the tunnels.

"What do you think happened to the others…?" And even though he asked the question it sounded like he didn't particularly want an answer to it.

"Well… given the archives were empty when we got back… maybe they got out?"

You didn't want to think about them being dead. You couldn't.

"You think so?"

"I hope so."

He squeezed your hand, probably the only warmth you'd felt in what might've been minutes - might've been hours.

"... Me too."

The sound of your footsteps crossing over cobblestones resumed, once again the only sound aside from that of your racing heartbeat in your ears.

It doesn't last quite so long though.

"Do you think they're alright…?"

It was Sasha's voice, muffled, coming from somewhere behind one of the walls.

"Let's hope so."

It's Jon's voice, muffled, coming from the same place as Sasha's.

"D'you hear that?" Tim asked, a glimmer of excitement in his voice.

"Yeah it, it sounds like Sasha. And Jon. But where-"

Tim's light caught on something, halting your train of thought. It appeared to be a strange looking wall, one that didn't quite fit with everything else you had seen thus far in the tunnels. It looked… weak, like a sheet of plasterboard had been slapped in between the brick foundation that otherwise covered the length of the tunnels.

"Hey, look. I think it's coming from over there." Tim nodded his head towards the wall, gently pulling you along with him as he went off to inspect it.

"Think we could break through?"

"I mean, probably, if the worms could bust through it."

"Good."

And while that hadn't exactly been your green light for him to do as was suggested, Timothy Stoker had other plans. He slipped his hand out of your grasp, clutching the fire extinguisher instead with both of his hands. He turned the thing so that the bottom was facing towards the wall and took one swing, creating a dent on the first shot.

"Jesus Christ, Tim! I didn't think you'd actually do it!"

But he just swings again, a man on a mission if the look of determination in his eyes is anything to go off of. Two swings turns into four, then six and by that point the wall was starting to fall apart.

You could hear your colleagues starting to panic on the other side of the wall, Martin's voice having joined Jon and Sasha's. Three voices meshed together in one big jumble of quivering questions about the stability of the wall and shouted inquiries on other ways to get out.

You tried calling out, to let them know it was safe. "Guys, it's alright! It's just us!"

But they didn't hear you, the sound of their own panic drowned you out completely.

The worry that any of them might do something rash like try to escape started to press at the forefront of your mind and all you can do is keep calling out to them, hoping they'll hear you through the wall breaking apart, hope they'll realize they aren't in any danger.

"Just stay put, we're getting you out!"

The wall was almost broken.

But you could hear their desperation getting louder.

Please for the love of God just stay there. Just stay there, please.

"Right. Right. Well, Martin, Sasha I guess this-"

And the wall crumbled away.

As it does you were met with the horrified stares of your assistants, all of them certain that the end would be waiting for them behind that wall. It was a wonder and a relief to watch that fear leave their eyes, astonishment replacing it instead as you offered them a small smile and a wave.

"Tried calling out to you lot but I guess you couldn't hear me." You chuckled, stepping through the rather large hole in the wall.

"Hi guys!" Tim piped in, much more cheerful than you'd seen him in the last hour.

"___, Tim! You made it!" Martin cheered, an unbelievable smile on his face.

"Where have you two  
been?! We thought you were…" Sasha trailed off, unable to voice the possibility of the outcome she had been about to pose.

"Funny story really. We ran into the office, worms everywhere, horrible death and everything, then I tripped and fell in some boxes and there were like twenty cans of gas in there!" Tim rambled, summing up the event better than you ever could, honestly.

"Yeah, and there was a huge ass hole in the wall for whatever reason." You added. "I'm assuming that's where they came in from."

"You can thank Jon for that one." Sasha quipped, folding her arms across her chest as she regarded Jon with an accusatory stare.

You blinked at Jon a bit stupidly, not quite sure what to make of that. "Excuse me?"

"The worms were not my fault." Jon shot back with a glare.

"The hole was though." Sasha argued.

"Guys, guys can we not-"

"Wait." You cut in, interrupting Martin. "Jon, what happened?"

"Nothing. I, I just…" He huffed out a sigh. "I'd gone into your office to look for you. There were some files I needed for Jennifer Ling's statement and when I went in you weren't there, so I started looking around for them myself. Only that's when I noticed a… spider, on the wall."

He paused for a moment, visibly uncomfortable with the recollection. "And, well, I suppose I might have been a bit forceful when killing it which caused the bookshelf to, sort of, topple over and, er... break the wall."

The sight of Jonathan Sims looking embarrassed about having done something wrong, nay, even the act of him admitting to having done something wrong was something you didn't think you'd see in your lifetime.

Yet there he was, hands firmly in his lap with a hard stare pointing not at you, but instead a little off to the left of you. You would say you thought you even saw a bit of red on those cheeks of his but that might've been the gas getting to you.

"Oh…"

A beat.

Then-

"You know what, we'll deal with that later. Right now we need to get out of here and the tunnels are our best bet. Less worms, and no Prentiss."

"Right, okay." Martin nodded. "Can you walk, Jon?"

"I can limp."

"I've got the tape recorder." Sasha said, making her way to a table in the corner of the room where, indeed, one of your tape recorders was sitting.

"You guys have been recording this whole time? Did you take one from my office?" You asked, flickering your attention between your recently reunited assistants.

It would explain why there was a recorder on the floor when you and Tim came down but… you just weren't sure where any of them would've gotten the idea to record the event. Not when it was a life or death situation.

"Actually I, uh, had that one." Martin piped up. "And, er, Jon actually thought we should record what was going on in case we… y'know…"

You looked to Jon, and as he looked back at you, you could truly say, for the first time, you knew exactly what he was thinking - what he was feeling.

He was afraid.

He was afraid of ending up like the statement givers, like all the ones who had died under mysterious circumstances, never to have the truth uncovered. And it came as a bit of a shock to you, really. For all his bravado you didn't think he would've been paying attention but…

Looks could be deceiving you supposed.

"No." You said quietly. "It was a good idea."

You turned to make your way back through the hole in the wall.

"C'mon. Let's get going."

Soon enough, everyone is in the tunnels. Together, but not quite out of the woods.  
__________

As you were rapidly learning, things had a tendency to go sideways even in the best case scenarios.

Not even five minutes after having been grouped back up with your colleagues did you again find yourselves again separated when the lot of you turned a corner and were instantly set upon by worms. Tim was able to douse the little blighters in what remaining CO2 he had left but by the time they were dead you had already lost sight of Martin and Sasha.

"Damn it, where the hell did they go?" You hissed, reaching out to help Jon up off the ground as he had tripped during the attack.

He took your hand slowly and as he placed his in your own, did you finally notice that he was shaking, quite bad actually. You couldn't say you blamed him, not when your own heart was about to burst out of your chest, but you'd gotten so used to the scowling academic persona he put on that it came as a bit of a shock for you to realize how frightened he actually was.

"I, I don't know," Tim stuttered, looking around for any sign of the other two. "I think they thought we were behind them."

"They didn't think at all." Jon spat as you helped him to a standing, leaning into you for a moment as he regained his footing.

"Hopefully they ended up together." You said, quietly noting how Jon allowed his hand to linger in yours for a moment before returning it to his side. "These tunnels would be dreadful to navigate alone."

Tim moved his phone around, casting the light on the walls, likely to see if there were any landmarks or any indication of where Sasha and Martin had gone off to. There wasn't as it would turn out but that didn't mean there wasn't anything to find in that particular area. As he moved his light around, it caught on something at the end of the hallway. It looked to be a set of stairs leading up to the ceiling.

When the three of you ventured closer, beckoned by Tim to go check it out, you realized there was a wooden panel at the top of the staircase.

A trapdoor, so it would seem.

"Are you kidding me?" You snorted, starting to get a bit fed up with the corniness of it all. "A trapdoor? Really?"

"It does seem a bit on the nose, doesn't it?" Tim chuckled lightly, still sounding a bit rattled.

"At least that means we won't have to beat our way through anymore drywall." Jon added. "But, as it stands, we also have no way of knowing where this leads to."

Right.

"Right."

Because by all accounts the door could lead you straight back to Prentiss. In any other situation you would've suggested trying to find another way out but as it were there really wasn't much of a point. No one knew the five of you were down there so even if help did come it likely would've been too late. Beside that you couldn't run from the worms forever. Whichever way you looked at it it seemed like trying to get out was probably the best option.

You just hoped Sasha and Martin could find their way out too.

"Well," you took the lead, pacing up the first few steps. "Only one way to find out."

Tim climbed up after you, only one step behind you by the time you got to the top, which left Jon at the bottom.

Your hands were shaking when you put them up to the door, preparing to push it open. You knew logically there was a 50/50 chance of the trapdoor leading miraculously into any place that wasn't the archives but something in your gut told you those odds were more skewed - and not towards a more favorable outcome either. You reasoned with yourself that even if it meant death, if it meant getting feasted on by worms, you were going to try to run, to get help.

There had to be a chance for someone, even if it wasn't you.

And at first, when you pushed open that trapdoor and saw nothing, you thought there might've been a chance to do as such.

Then five seconds passed.

Just long enough for all of you to climb out and yet not quite long enough to realize the danger that had been lurking behind you in the doorway the entire time.

"Archivist…."

The pitted woman called for you in a croaking, raspy voice, utilizing vocal cords that we're probably only barely holding on by a thread.

You hear the men behind you curse under their breath.

Then the worms come.

They bursted out of the woman before you and bury into your skin, ripping into your flesh with razor sharp teeth that are not meant for the kind of creatures they are supposed to be. There's no time for you to do anything and with your only exits compromised or altogether useless, there's nowhere to run.

Next to the fear, next to the hopelessness, there was something that felt like anger, like determination. It was hot, a growing flame amidst the bleak, icy feeling of knowing that this was the end.

You couldn't say why Martin's voice from a few nights ago, asking you for reassurance, came to your mind. But it did.

_"Do you… do you think everything is going to be okay?"_

While you know the answer now, the want to change it is enough to propel you forward and your body reacts almost on its own. You didn't know what you hoped to achieve as your legs raced forward to certain death but as you heard the pained cries of Tim and Jon behind you, the fist that reels into what was once Jane's face feels like retribution. Even if it's a futile one.

Both you and Jane collapsed to the ground, you, far too weak to stand from the pain, and her, only a frail host for her parasites - but it doesn't mean much in the way of victory, not when more worms come sputtering out of her, racing towards you evermore.

"Do you… hear… their song…?"

Everything hurts. Everything feels like you're being ripped apart by a hundred tiny needles and the pain is so much that you could feel yourself starting to black out.

There's a sound though, just before you do. It sounds like the hiss of air pressure, like gas breaking from above you.

Then there's another sound - a worse, far more awful sound.

And you supposed, as you finally lost consciousness -

You did hear their song.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hoo boy, this was a long one. Wasn't expecting it to be 4k words but hey it certainly helped my nanowrimo score LOL 
> 
> Also, I'm sorry we punched Miss Prentiss but when the boys are being hurt the guns come out! (even if it didn't really do much lol) 
> 
> I think that's about it so as always you can check me out on tumblr @gerry-rigged if you would like!


	11. All Gone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “She’d been _shot_?” 
> 
> The first thing you did when you got home was call Sasha - the one who had apparently found Gertrude’s body according to what the police told you. 
> 
> “Yeah, three times, in the chest from what I could see…” She answered solemnly. 

The raucous death cry of a thousand screeching mouths is a sound you don't think you'll ever forget. 

It was a spine tingling thing that reverberated through all of the fresh holes in your skin. Which somehow made the pain of your new wounds that much worse when you finally woke up in the hospital.

The tests, the probing and the endless questions from the doctors and nurses are bad enough but even that isn't enough to stop you from reliving the experience every time the room went quiet for even a second. Your mind felt like it was on a loop, flashing between events of horrified faces, of your heart feeling like it would explode, of screaming, of painful yells and- 

Wait. 

"What about the others?" You croaked out as a nurse covered head to toe in protective equipment and a hazmat suit checked your vitals. 

"Jonathan Sims and Timothy Stoker were brought in with you. They're awake and seem to be recovering but we'll need to keep a close eye on all of you for the time being." 

"And Sasha? What about Martin?" 

"Martin Blackwood was the one who called us to come get you but I'm afraid we didn't meet with anyone named Sasha." 

A chilling worry settled in your bones as thoughts of what could've happened in your absence swirled in your brain. 

The forty eight hours before you got your phone back from the staff - before you could get an answer - were grueling. But the minute you had the device in your hands you shot off a hurried text to both Sasha and Martin, asking how they were doing, if they were alright. 

When you received replies from not just one, 

_Still processing, I think. It all feels kind of blank right now. But what about you? You're the one that nearly got killed, y'know? - Sasha_

But both of them, 

_I mean… alive, I guess? How about you? I can't imagine how you must be feeling right now. - Martin_

It felt like the weight of the world lifted off of your chest. 

They'd made it. 

Everyone might have been a little worse for wear - a _little_ being a bit of an understatement - but they were alive and that's what mattered to you.

In fact it was probably the only positive thing you would walk away from that experience with. 

Especially after the police came to the hospital.

Three men in uniforms had come walking into your room just after you’d been cleared to leave. 

“____?” One of them asked in a gruff voice. 

“Yes?” You replied wearily, still very much in pain and not in the mood for more interrogation. 

“Are you familiar with a Miss Gertrude Robinson?” 

That got your attention. 

“Oh... yeah. She was the previous archivist at The Magnus Institute. We were co-workers before I took over her position. Why, what seems to be the issue?” 

The speaking officer straightened his posture, quiet, and he looked you square in the eyes in a way that unnerved you far beyond words could describe. 

“It would appear she’s been found dead in the tunnels underneath the Institute.”

_Oh._

“I’m going to have to ask you a few questions.”

 _Shit._

_________________________

“She’d been _shot_?” 

The first thing you did when you got home was call Sasha - the one who had apparently found Gertrude’s body according to what the police told you. 

_“Yeah, three times, in the chest from what I could see…”_ She answered solemnly. 

“Jesus Christ…” 

_“Yeah… yeah, I know…”_

It was quiet between the two of you. 

There were so many thoughts racing through your mind. So much that you almost couldn’t keep up with the sound of your own brain. After everything that had happened, to find out Gertrude had died by means of a gun… you weren’t quite sure how to feel about all of it. 

“How are you doing with... all of it?” You asked, heart still breaking more for your co-workers than it was for yourself. 

_“I… I don’t know really. I know I’m not okay but… what else is there to say, really? We were almost killed for God’s sake and yet everything keeps moving. We’re still moving. Still working in this God forsaken place.”_ She said ruefully, sniffling softly on the other end of the phone. 

“Yeah…” You sighed. “Yeah, I get it…” 

It was quiet again. 

“I’m sorry, Sasha… really, I am. And if you want to leave I won’t blame you at all.” 

_“I…”_ She trailed off, going silent on the other end. 

_“I want to, I really do, but I just… can’t, y’know? Anytime I think about it my mind just… rejects the idea completely. And I…”_

She paused again.

_“Well, suppose I can’t leave you or the others now, can I? We’re all in this mess together.”_

Between the uncertainty, the looming chill of fear, you found the smallest bit of warmth in her words, no matter how tiny the flame. 

“Yeah. I think I know exactly what you mean.” 

Quiet. 

“Thank you, Sash. Really.” You said. “Get some rest and I’ll see you when I get back… whenever that is.” 

_“You’d better stay off for at least the month. Running back here while you’re still recovering isn’t a good idea.”_

“No, no.” You chuckled. “I know. Trust me I think I’ll use the break to my advantage.” 

_“Good. Otherwise Martin and I are kicking you out!”_

There was a sliver of laughter in her voice, just the smallest bit of playfulness that you had come to love. 

“Duly noted.” You smiled. “Talk to you soon.” 

_“Yeah, talk to you then.”_

The call ends and you fell with a groan onto your bed. 

Everything is uncertain and painful and you want so badly to wake up in the morning and have it all be some kind of horrible nightmare. 

But you knew it wasn’t. 

And as your eyes closed, the heavy weight of your thoughts drawing you to slumber, all you could hope for was that you could figure out how to navigate this new reality. 

All you could hope for was a decent ending to whatever had just begun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter took three years to write because I had to listen to episode 40 over and over again to try and figure out what I wanted to do with it but I got it baybeeee. And yes there's a reason Sasha found Gertrude instead of Martin and you'll find out why later 👀
> 
> Hoping to have a few more chapters out tomorrow!


	12. Lemongrass and Sleep

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As it turns out, a month long break isn't as cathartic as you thought it would be, not when alone to face an existential dread that had no name. 
> 
> At least, it's not until Tim comes over.

In any other circumstance a month off from work would have been a welcome reprieve. 

But in your case, a month off just seemed like a flighty delay of the inevitable. 

Sure, it gave time for your wounds to heal, holes closing over into ugly scars all over your body - adding yet another thing for you to fuss about in the mirror - but that was about all it did. There was only so much sleep and takeout a person could indulge in before it stopped being a placebo for the dread lingering in your bones. 

And sure you'd kept up with everyone as best you could, checking up with Jon and Tim as the three of you made your recoveries, as well as Sasha and Martin while they held down the fort in your absence. 

But everything still felt hollow. 

Or at least, that’s how it seemed when you were alone. You hadn’t exactly tried being in the company of someone else.

_Any chance us worm buddies could get together? Starting to go a bit stir crazy on my own. - Tim_

But company, as it would turn out, was actually a nice solution to the loneliness that had started creeping in. 

Especially when that company was a bit more hands on than you were used to. 

Over the course of the week and a half Tim had stayed it seemed like the two of you were constantly touching in some manner. Whether it was his hand on your knee as you watched some random Youtube videos or his shoulder pressed up against yours as the two of you played a round of Mario Kart. 

It was… nice. Really nice. 

It certainly helped in calming the knee-jerk reaction that something was crawling on you when a stray piece of fabric or some other small object glided over your skin. Instead, you got used to it being him - his hands gliding over your skin or his legs brushing against yours. 

It came with a degree of nervousness as well of course, as you weren’t exactly adjusted to such intimate behavior but when it came from him it just felt… comfortable? You’d known Tim long enough to know he wouldn’t try anything you hadn’t approved of, that touching was just another way for him to communicate. 

And, to be quite honest, considering the last thing that had decided to bestow its touch upon you was a few dozen worms burying into your skin, trying to eat you from the outside in, a few shoulder brushes and hands on your knee were a welcome development. 

Though - and even you’d surprised yourself with this one - as the week waned on, sparse touching turned into afternoon naps against each other on the couch. Turned into Tim sleeping in your bed instead of on the couch and somehow his arms always found their way around you in the middle of the night. 

The nights you couldn’t sleep, willing yourself away from whatever _those_ horrible dreams were, were the nights you were most grateful for his embrace.

Sometimes you’d turn over, slowly and quietly so as not to wake him, just to watch him for a while. Maybe it was a bit creepy but there was something so calming about just… watching him. Watching him breathe and look so at peace after all that had happened was just… cathartic, honestly. 

It _was_ a bit annoying that he was still so stupidly handsome even with all the scars though. 

And one night, without thinking, as you admired that face with a smile on your own, you reached out and brushed a few tousled strands of hair behind his ear, just taking in his image.

It would be just your luck when he started to shift, groaning ever so softly.

A quiet, slowly rising panic started to form in the pit of your ribcage as you saw those beautiful eyes of his slowly flutter open, blinking a few times before they settled on you, and that sinfully charming smile of his stretched over his lips. 

“Hey there gorgeous.” He said, his husky, sleep laden voice rippling through your chest. “Having trouble sleeping?” 

“Kind of…” You chuckled softly, trying to stay the nerves. “It’s always a toss up of if I have nightmares or not.” 

"Ah, gotcha.” He laughed back, still just as husky and breathy - and your heart felt like it would explode right there. 

“Wanna talk about it?” He asked, eyes softening as he looked at you. 

"Oh, it's…" Your eyes left his, drifting downwards. "It's nothing really." 

It wasn't, but you weren't sure how you would even begin to explain those dreams to him. 

"You sure?" He asked. "I'm a pretty good listener, y'know." 

You snorted at that. "Sure." 

"Hey! I can be!" He defended, chuckling softly all the while. 

"No, no I know." You smiled. "I just… I don't know how to really explain them. The nightmares. They're just… awful." 

How could you ever explain that you wandered what was essentially broken, twisted fragments of scenarios that belonged to statement givers you'd met in person? 

How could you explain that you would sometimes see Naomi Herne in a grave at that churchyard she'd found, the thing slowly filling up with dirt all around her even though no one was around to bury her. She would call for you sometimes, if she saw you, reaching out and screaming for you to help her. 

How did you explain that you didn't help her, no matter how much you wanted to? That your body just wouldn't _move._ That it wasn't just her either. It was the same for all of them. You just had to watch them suffer, watch them stare back at you with desperation or hate or a sad kind of realisation of their fate. 

And even though these things were only dreams, they felt so real, so personal that you'd often wake up drained and feeling so guilty you felt sick. 

You couldn't stand it. You _hated_ it so much. 

Tears started to drip down your cheeks but by the time you noticed them Tim was already reaching out to wipe them away. 

"Hey, hey…" He said softly, hand resting against your cheek as his thumb smoothed your tears away. "Hey, it's okay. You don't have to say anything if it's that bad." 

You sniffed, eyes still averted from his. "Thank you…" 

He shifted then, arm gliding down to your waist where he wrapped it around you. "C'mere," he said, gently pulling himself into you, letting you bury your head in his chest as his chin settled on top of it. 

"It's been a lot, huh?" He murmured, hand rubbing up and down your back soothingly. 

"A lot more than a lot." You answered, far too emotionally exhausted to articulate further. 

"I know." He whispered, tugging you in closer. "I know. But we're all still alive. That counts for something, yeah?" 

"Of course it does…" You mumbled against his skin, nose buried in his shirt, taking in the faint scent of his cologne. "I just… I just don't know what's going _on_ . I don't know how to keep everyone _safe_. Had Elias pulled that damn release any later we would've been worm food." 

Just the thought made you sick.

"And had Elias taken you seriously all the times you came to him about getting the police involved sooner we might not have even been in that predicament." Tim argued. "And also it's not _your_ job to keep us safe. I know you're our boss and all but stuff like that, that's _way_ out of your control." 

You groaned against him, sighing into his skin. 

"Hey," he started, pulling you in even closer, if it were possible. "You're doing your best. We're all trying to figure this out. Best we can do is just keep going." 

You were quiet for a moment. 

"I know." You said finally. "I know you're right. Guess I'm just… still shaken up." 

"Don't blame you. Would be pretty insane if you weren't." 

"What about you?" You asked. "I mean you were right there with me and you just… it's like you bounced right back." 

"Are you kidding? I was a wreck for days." He chuckled sourly. "Only started feeling better once I got here." 

You blinked at that, pulling back far enough to look him in the eyes. "Yeah?" 

He pressed his forehead up against yours, a motion that set your face instantly ablaze. "Yeah, silly." 

Oh _._

"Not to get too sappy or over-emotional on you but you make me feel safer. More stable I guess you could say." 

_Oh._

….

"Oh…" 

Your eyes drifted from his, sure your burning cheeks were enough of a give away of how badly flustered you were right then. 

It… to be told you made someone feel safe was… it did things to your insides, made them twist and pulse and beat in a way that felt like _purpose._

"Well…" you started, a dumb, happy smile forming on your face. "Right back at you, mate." 

He broke out into a wide grin, eyes practically shimmering in the moonlight as they looked back into yours. "Happy to hear it." 

"Now," he said, shifting away from you a small bit. "If you're feeling better, how about we try to get you to sleep, yeah? I'll be right here if you have a nightmare. " 

"I think I can deal with that." You giggled, squeaking softly as he once again pulled you in close, squeezing you tight against him for a brief moment before allowing you to settle. 

"That's my, ____." He hummed, chin resting atop your head once again, his arms enveloping you in that warm, welcoming, Tim Stoker-exclusive kind of way. 

And in his arms was where you finally, for the first time in months, drifted off into a dreamless, peaceful slumber.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One half of my brain: You know this is supposed to be a re-write of a horror podcast, right? 
> 
> The other half of my brain: Hush, only soft Tim snuggles now.
> 
> Chapter title is a reference to Dodie's song She.


	13. It's Like Running Into a House Fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's your first day back to the Institute.  
> There's a lot to catch up on.

Walking through the front doors of the Institute after a month off felt like trying to walk with sandbags tied to your shoes, a heavy, sinking feeling weighing you down the minute you passed the front entrance. 

It was the last place you wanted to be and yet somehow you found yourself there anyway, passing the front desk, offering a greeting to Rosie - who, as always, looked impeccable - with a strained smile, almost unable to keep it there. It had nothing to do with her, really, you just weren't in the mood for conversation. 

Of course, as if sensing your thoughts, she called you back before you could get too far away, beckoning you to turn around. 

"Yes, Rosie?" 

"Elias wanted to see you before you got started for the day. Said you two had a few things to discuss."

"Oh," you scoffed. "Trust me, we do." 

In fact the two of you had _plenty_ to discuss. 

"In that case I'd suggest heading up to his office. He should be there waiting for you." She instructed, face held in a neutral expression with a well meaning smile. 

"Thank you Rosie, I'll see you later." You offered her a small wave, vaguely aware of the goodbye she gave before heading off to the stairs. 

Elias' office was on the second floor - because of course it was - and quite frankly the sooner you were up there and in his office, the sooner you could get one of the most unpleasant parts of your first day back out of the way. 

In your heart of hearts you knew Elias isn't to blame for the worms, no one was. But you can't help feeling a bit slighted that he hadn't listened to you, hadn't taken you more seriously. Sure, you didn't know for certain that getting the police involved earlier would help but you also didn't know that it _wouldn't,_ and it's in those hypotheticals that you found your frustration, because he hadn't listened enough to even attempt it.

Then of course there was Gertrude and everything that came with _that_ situation. 

With everything bubbling up inside you, by the time you reached Elias' door you had to stop, letting your hand fall just short of balling into a fist and banging on the wood, as the heat rose to your head and your thoughts jumped around in a frantic frenzy. 

You took a breath, hard enough that your shoulders rose and sank with the heaved motion, and tried to calm yourself. 

Going in there hot and yelling at him wasn't going to help matters. You needed answers from him, needed to be coherent and concise in that _he_ needed to start paying better attention. And you weren't going to be able to communicate that properly if you were yelling. 

You looked to the door, softly nodding to yourself in assurance before you curled your fingers up in a much smaller, gentler fist and knocked on the door. 

That unperturbed, even voice floated through the door, beckoning you inside. "Yes, come in." 

This was going to be the longest meeting of your life. 

You opened the door, peering into his office where you would find him with a pen in his hand, squinting at a form on his desk. As you emerged completely into the space did his eyes flicker up from the document to you, where they stayed. 

"Ah, ____, welcome back." He said, straightening his posture, setting his pen down on the desk. "I trust you had a quiet recovery." 

"Quiet is one way to put it…" you uttered, sardonic in tone as you looked to him with a slight glower. "Kind of hard to recover from a thousand worms trying to eat you." 

"Of course. I understand." He replied, even, nonplussed. "Still, you're here, and I'm sure the both of us know there's a lot to discuss. So, if you'll have a seat," he gestured to the chair across from him, "then we can begin." 

The lack of any sympathy in his voice was a bit annoying but you would be lying to yourself if you said you expected anything different, and after all, starting an argument about it was only going to keep you from getting the answers you wanted. So in that vein, you shoved down the snarky remark sitting on your tongue and instead sat yourself down. 

“So-” 

“Ah, actually, before we continue,” you said, pulling your work bag onto your lap. 

Reaching into your bag you soon procured a tape recorder and dropped it on the desk, seemingly giving Elias reason for surprise as he cocked up an eyebrow at you when you looked at him again. With one finger on the play button, and a steady stare aimed back at your boss, did you then continue. 

“Now we can start.” You said just before pushing the button down, the tape whirring to life a second after. 

“Is this… really necessary?” Elias asked with a hint of trepidation in his voice. 

“I think so.” You shot back. “Jon had the idea back during the invasion to record everything in case we…” you stopped for a moment, swallowing the uneasiness that came with admitting the words out loud. 

“In case something happens.” You continued, exhaling softly. “That way the next archivist would actually _know_ what happened, it wouldn’t be some kind of mystery like Gertrude.” 

Elias paused for a moment, eyes wandering from you, to the tape recorder, and back again. Then, with an almost silent exhale of his own, did he respond. “I suppose that’s fair, given all that’s happened.” 

“Glad you agree.” Though it wasn’t like you would’ve turned the thing off anyhow, and you figured he knew that. “Now, I need you to tell me about Gertrude.” 

“I-”

“ _Everything_ , this time, Elias. Some rumor about her dying at her desk can’t be all that you know.” 

Again, the man before you paused, looking into your eyes with a finely cut inquisitiveness that at one time in your life might have made you shrivel back in apology, might have cut you down to silence.

Now it just made you angry. 

And maybe Elias saw that too, for when he finally blinked, that inquisitiveness was much softer, a weary, vague thing that lingered on you. 

Then he spoke.

“Right. Of course.” 

Then he told you everything.

Just not the everything _he_ knew. 

\------------------

“That’s it then?” 

As per matter of routine, Jon was the first one down to the archives, and given he’d gone back a week earlier than you and Tim, you weren’t all that surprised to see him down there alone, working away at his laptop. 

“Yeah, pretty much.” 

Practically the minute you got in he’d asked you if you had spoken to Elias and at the moment, you were just about finished telling him that- 

“At least that’s all he would tell me. Apparently all the blood on her desk was the only indicator that something nefarious had even happened to her.” 

“Hm.” Jon adjusted his glasses, sliding them up closer to his eyes. “Interesting.” 

“Annoying more like.” You huffed, crossing your arms over your chest. “It’s not like I _wanted_ anything bad to have happened to the woman but I just… after all this garbage with Prentiss and everything I’ve read… I don’t know. It just doesn’t add up, I suppose.” 

"Yes, I think I quite understand the sentiment.” Jon replied, the two of you sharing a look of mutual acknowledgement.

“I’m sure.” You sighed. “Anyway, that aside, how did you fair during your recovery? I was a bit surprised to hear you’d come back early.” 

“Ah, well, I-” he closed his laptop at that point. “- I suppose I was getting rather restless just sitting around. After the pain went away I didn’t see much point in laying about.” 

You cocked an eyebrow at him. “Even with your leg? Aren’t you still going to physical therapy for it?” 

Not to mention the emotional trauma that came with almost being killed but you had a feeling that was a conversation Jon wouldn’t partake in. 

“Ah, it’s, not as bad as it seems, really.” He said, though you noted his cadence was a bit rushed as he spoke. “The physical therapist seems to think I’m doing just fine.”

“Alright, no need for the hard sell.” You chuckled, trying to lighten the mood and if not taking the slightest bit of humor in how much he was trying to convince you he was healthy enough to be back at work. 

“It’s not like I’m gonna force you back on break but take it easy, okay? Until your leg is a bit better you’re on light duty. The others and myself will take care of the field work.” 

“That’s,” - and oh how you knew he wouldn’t like hearing that - “that’s really not necessary I’m-” 

“ _Jon._ ” You stared at him pointedly, raising your eyebrows in that telltale way that universally seemed to convey the message of _don’t try me_. “Until your leg is healed completely you’re on research tasks only. Focus on your health for once, yeah?” 

He very much looked like he wanted to say something else, something probably to the effect of “you’re one to talk” but as it were all that came out was a begrudging sigh and a reluctant agreement. 

“Yes, alright. I understand.” 

You smiled at him then. “Thank you. And try not to look like I’ve just put you in timeout, yeah?” You joked, chuckling to yourself as he rolled his eyes at the quip, grunting softly in opposition. “I just want to make sure you’re in better health before I send you back out into the world.”

“I managed to make it here in one piece, didn’t I?” He shot back, dryly. 

“Can you not be snarky for like five seconds?” Though you knew that was a lofty request. 

Then, quietly and yet just loud enough for you to hear, Jon muttered something that stopped you dead in your tracks.

“Took you longer than five seconds to say that."

Silence. 

A mutual blank stare, though his holds a small glint in it. 

“One of these days I _am_ going to just put salt in your tea, fair warning.” 

“That’s if you can ever get to the machine before Martin does.” He challenged, the corner of his mouth turning upwards into the faintest of smirks. 

“Yeah, that’s fair enough actually.” You conceded with a shake of your head, smiling to yourself once more. “Anyway, with all that being said, I’m going to settle in. Might be nice to see my office without a giant hole in it.” 

It would’ve been nice to see your office never, but you knew full well that wasn’t an option. Not now anyway. 

“Sure.” He said, something sounding vaguely like guilt in that timbre of his. 

_Maybe because he kind of let the worms in?_ You thought, but ultimately decided not to bring it up. 

“I’ll see you later.” You said with a small wave, then turned to go, making your way to your office as Jon opened his laptop once again. 

You weren’t quite sure what you expected when you opened the door but for some reason the sight of your workspace undisturbed, like nothing had ever happened, did nothing for the nerves firing off underneath your skin. If anything it just reminded you that anything could be wiped clean. Anything could be replaced, like the new desk you found yourself dragging your fingers over, like the new office chair that was no longer wooden but instead was covered with fabric and had wheels on it. 

Your gaze landed on the part of the wall where you remembered the hole to be and while it’s not as easily erased as the removable furniture, they did a good enough job repairing it that no one would blink twice at it. There’s a slight discoloration between the new plasterboard and the wall that was left standing but unless you were really looking for it it was easy to miss altogether. 

Your eyes traced over those ridges where the colors changed, then looked down to your new desk, almost identical to your old one, just a bit shinier. 

Well. 

Time to start the day, you supposed. 

\------------

Sasha is the second one in to see you, just after Martin who had fussed over you more within the first five minutes of seeing you than he did in a normal eight hour shift. But it wasn’t as if you’d complain, it was - admittedly - kind of endearing to have someone worry after you given the nature of your leave in the first place. 

“I’ll go make you some tea.” He offered with a soft smile, excusing himself so that Sasha, standing just off to the side of the doorway, could have her moment with you. 

The door clicked shut behind him and almost the minute it did Sasha's lips curled into a cheshire grin. 

“I swear, he’s almost as obvious with Jon as he is with you.” 

You cocked an eyebrow at her, clearly missing something. “What do you mean?” 

She rolled her eyes at that. “Oh, come off it, he clearly likes you.” 

You swore your eyes might’ve popped out of your head, or at least your heart might’ve popped out of your chest given how viscerally it started thumping behind your ribcage. 

“Wh, what?” You choked, brain clearly trying to process this new information. “That’s not, there’s no way. He's just being Martin, he's always nice. Besides you’ve seen how he is with Jon, pretty sure he only has eyes for him.” 

“He’s got two eyes hasn’t he?” She chuckled, slowly making her way over. “You of all people should know it’s possible to like more than one person at a time. You’re poly, aren’t you?” 

“Sure but that doesn’t mean Martin is.” You argued, the self doubt already conjuring up excuses and negatives. 

“Have you ever asked him?” 

“I mean, no, but I guess I just assumed.” 

“Well, you know what they say about assuming, right?” She countered with a wink. 

You shook your head, rolling your eyes. “Yeah, yeah and I’ll make an ass out of _you_ if you keep talking nonsense.” You chuckled. 

She feigned an exasperated sigh. “Fiiine.” 

“Good.” You snorted. “I swear you’re as bad as Tim sometimes.” 

“Tim’s got nothing on me.” She said as she leaned on the corner of your desk and pushed herself up just enough that her feet came up off the ground, crossing at her ankles. 

“As I’m now noticing.” You responded with a wry smile. 

She put a finger to her lips. “It’s our secret though, alright?” 

“Maybe.” You shrugged, making her giggle. “So, what’s up? What brings you to my office today?” 

“Other than checking up on you after a month off from having almost been killed?” She asked with a raised eyebrow.

“Yes, other than that.” 

“Well, actually, I’m glad you asked.” She looked down at her skirt, hand reaching into a hidden pocket and fumbling about for a moment before she pulled a small, black, cardboard box out of the folds of her clothing. “I come bearing gifts.” 

“Oh well, damn, wasn’t expecting that.” You reached out to take the item she passed off to you. “Thank you Sasha but you really didn’t have to get me anything.” 

She shook her head. “It’s no big deal, really.” 

Pulling off the lid of the box you would find what looked to be some kind of crystal inside. It was attached to a velvet, fabric chain and it… it glowed in such an ethereal way, in the way one might imagine an angel might. 

Which was to say it was beautiful, in the most purest sense possible. 

“There was a new antique shop that opened on my route to work and I popped in for a bit. Found something I thought you might like.” Sasha explained, smiling softly down at you as you turned your awestruck gaze up at her. 

“Sasha, this is beautiful…” 

“Good! Took a bit of haggling to get the shopkeeper to drop the price.” 

And as if someone had snapped their fingers, your awe turned just as quickly to guilt. “Oh, God was it really that much?” 

“Relax.” She cut in, placing a softly commanding hand down on your desk with a small pop. “There’s a no return policy anyway so just enjoy it.” 

At a loss, and still feeling a bit guilty as your mind imagined just how much the trinket might be all you could manage to repeat was: “Well, this is really sweet, Sash, thank you so much.” 

“No problem. I figured you could maybe use a good luck charm after what happened.” 

“Certainly feels like a good luck charm.” You agreed, slipping the chain over your head, being that it was already tied at a point that you could comfortably put it on. 

“Ah yes, what a perfect fit.” Sasha smiled widely, clearly proud of her work. “Looks great on you.” 

And if your cheeks weren’t red before from the whole Martin situation, they certainly were then as probably one of the most gorgeous women you’d ever seen complimented you on how you looked wearing a gift she’d given you. 

“Thanks again, Sash. Don’t think anything’s gonna top this today.” 

“Hey!” She exclaimed, popping you lightly on the shoulder with the back of her hand. “Don’t say that in front of Martin, you still have about fifteen cups of tea to get through today.”

“Don’t worry," you smiled warmly. "I can enjoy the necklace _and_ Martin’s tea perfectly fine.” 

“You better.” She warned jokingly, making the gesture of pointing her index and middle finger at her eyes and then back at you. 

“Oh I will, and gladly at that.” 

And you did. 

The next few weeks passed with tea and your new necklace hanging loosely from your neck, glowing softly in the dim light of the archives, glowing...

Glowing somehow brighter when you recorded statements. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jareth voice: It's just a crystal, nothing more 👁👄👁
> 
> Also sorry if you're not poly, you are now. I had intended to leave it where each character would get their own ending once the story was over, as well as a polycule ending but this is looking to be AT LEAST 50 chapters and tbh those of you that have left me feedback seem all in for polycule (+ Gerry and Michael) so we just in it now. 
> 
> Also, also, I know the last two sentences are wack, I was trying to be ominous and failed but I've been editing this for like a day and a half so I'm just releasing it into the world LOL


	14. Section Thirty One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You weren't fond of cops, for various reasons. But being in the line of work you had chosen didn't leave room for bias. 
> 
> And really, after all is said and done, it's a good thing it didn't.

You couldn't say you had ever been fond of cops, for various reasons. 

"Just wanna talk about it, y'know?" 

But it wasn't as if you'd turn away someone who needed to get something off their chest, it just wasn't in your nature - despite it also being your job. 

"Sure, of course." 

So when Police Constable Basira Hussain, a tough looking woman with a hardened stare in her eyes, stepped into your office and told you all about Section 31 - the label the police force seemed to slap on cops who had come in contact with the paranormal - or the "weird" as she explained they referred to it as, - you were rather glad you'd thought to put your bias aside. 

Especially when she brought up the fact that she was working practically on her own regarding Gertrude's case. 

"Maybe that’s why I wanted to make a statement, you know?" She began. "I can’t talk to anybody about this stuff, and then I come here, and you’ve got all this… all these people’s experiences listened to and filed away. It’s… I don’t know. I’ve been meaning to come in ever since that callout."

"Yeah no, I don't blame you. Neither of those situations sounded fun, exactly. Though I'm sure your job isn't exactly meant to be fun when you're a cop." 

"Not really, no." 

"Right." You heaved a breath, rubbing a finger at your temple. "So, concerning Gertrude's case, it's basically just you then?" 

"Pretty much. And there's so much to go over that I don't think either Daisy or I have gotten a chance to listen to the tapes yet." 

It was like something went off in your mind, like a desperate, flickering light surging on upstairs as you thoughtfully considered those words. 

"Is that so?" 

"Yeah, between the autopsy and the other evidence we need to sort through, there just hasn't been enough time." 

"Hm…" 

You reached over and quietly clicked off the tape recorder, an action which Basira took pointed notice of, posture going a bit rigid when your eyes flickered up from the device and back to her. 

"I know this is probably extremely inappropriate of me to ask but… could you possibly share those tapes with me?" 

The alarm in her eyes was instant, "I-" 

"Look, just hear me out." You cut in. "There's been _a lot_ of weird garbage going on at this place. Between the worms and now Gertrude - I," you stopped, taking a breath before your mouth could run off without you. "I want to find her killer just as much as you do, probably even more so, not to mention I've also got the time and resources to make use of the tapes. Whatever I find, I'll make sure I report back to you, I swear." 

Basira was quiet for a long moment, staring at you in a way that both looked incredulous and yet somehow considerate.

Then she spoke. "You know we could both get in a lot of trouble for that, right? Sharing police evidence with civilians is a huge violation of protocol." 

"The way I see it we already could. You've already told me you were technically breaking the law by talking to me about police business." 

Her eyebrows furrowed, hard stare tinged with a spark of agitation. "Is that your attempt to blackmail me?" 

The worry and surprise that came from such an accusation hit you in a clash that showed clearly in your widened eyes. 

"What? No! No, I'm just," another breath, "I'm just saying that we're already toeing the line of legality here and I, well, listening to statements is literally my job. I think I could be of some help here. Certainly more help than no one, yeah?" 

There's more silent consideration, more of her looking you up and down, more of her clearly going over things in her own head. 

Waiting for her to speak felt about as painful as holding your breath underwater. 

"Alright."

But her answer felt like breaking the surface. 

"Really?" 

"Yeah," she answered simply, as though the conclusion she'd reached was perfectly justifiable. "Like you said, some help is better than no help. And frankly I don't think anyone will be paying much attention to a few tapes going missing." 

"Thank you Basira, really. I very much appreciate it." 

"Don't mention it." She said, folding her body as she stood up from her chair. "And I mean really - don't mention it, to anyone." 

"Of course." You agreed. "I understand." 

"Good. I'll see what I can bring before the week is out." 

Then she turned, and walked out. 

**\--------------**

The first tape Basira sent you didn't exactly shed any light on who could've killed Gertrude, but it did show you that the old woman certainly knew more than you might've expected. 

The way she talked about this… "Circus of the Other" like she was so familiar with it, the way she'd stated that she thought it was "...somewhat amazing that the whole town appears to have made it through in one piece," with such an informative, unwavering tone gave you chills. 

What had Gertrude done in her time working for the Institute? What had she seen to give her such a disposition? According to the files Sasha pulled up from the Institute's employee database she'd worked there for over fifty years. Suffice it to say, that was quite a long time to be doing this kind of work. Quite a long time to see a plethora more of paranormal goings on than you had, that was for sure. 

You almost wished she was still alive, if not only so you could talk to her about all of it. 

But as it were all you had were these tapes - the last bits of surviving knowledge of Gertrude Robinson. 

Hopefully… hopefully they could help you put these jagged pieces together. 

Before anyone else got hurt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> While Basira won't be in this fic that much we still stan and we still be needing those tapes because PLOT.


	15. Down and Down the Rabbit Hole Winds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The afternoon starts out weird.  
> And it just gets weirder.

You had been going over some documents that afternoon, checking over newspaper articles and cross referencing their information with the police records you'd managed to obtain. All in all a boring, unseeming few hours, to be sure. 

Tim popping his head into your office a few moments later, asking you for something, wasn't quite out of the ordinary either. 

"Hey boss, you have a second?" 

You looked up from the documents covering a small section of your desk and regarded Tim with a soft look of inquiry, almost thankful for the distraction. "Sure, what's up?" 

"Well, we've got someone out here who wants to make a statement but, er…" He hesitated for a moment. "She's having a bit of trouble, I think. Martin was asking her for her details and once he got to the subject of her visit she got kind of flustered - grabbed a piece of copy paper and just started trying to draw him a map, something about crazy corridors and looping hallways." 

Now that was certainly out of the ordinary. 

"Oh, well that's, odd, I guess." You blinked. "I suppose I'll come out then." You said, scooting out your chair that rolled softly over the floor before getting to a standing. "See if I can get her in here." 

"That would be very much appreciated." Tim smiled, following after you as the two of you left the office, traversing instead a little ways down to where Martin was indeed sitting with a woman. 

Getting closer you soon realized that Martin was trying, rather sheepishly, to calm the woman sat in front of him, who was shoving a drawing of corridors that turned forever to the right until they ran off the page, in his face, talking about how it "didn't make any sense, it _couldn't_ make any sense." 

"Ms. Richardson I understand your concern, I, I do," he started, ducking around the paper to see her face rather than moving it, always contentious of other people's space. "But the sooner we can get you in to see our archivist the sooner you might be feeling better. I'm sure you'll find they're quite good at making sense of these things." 

The swell of gentle pride at hearing him describe you in such a way was involuntary and maybe not appropriate for such a situation but it was there nonetheless. 

"Well that's very sweet, Martin, thank you." You smiled, putting a gentle hand on his shoulder, startling him ever so. 

"Oh!" He started, turning his head to look up at you, curly hair bouncing as he did so. "____, I, I didn't hear you come out!" 

"It's all good, Martin. Tim said I should come by." You winked, clearly indicating the situation at hand. 

A flash of recognition crossed his eyes and he nodded. "Right, right, of course." 

You then turned your attention to the woman sitting across from Martin, who, now that you got a better look at her, really seemed to be in rough shape. Her eyes were wild and you could see that her hands had a slight tremor in them. Whatever she had experienced, it certainly hadn't been pleasant. 

"Ms. Richardson, this is our archivist, ___." Martin introduced as you held your hand out for a shake. 

One she reluctantly and hesitantly returned for a moment or so. "Ah, yes, hello…"

"I'm sorry we're meeting under these conditions but hopefully we can help you sort your situation out. If you're ready, I can walk you to my office?" You offered, trying to maintain as pleasant a demeanour as possible without coming across insincere or too pushy. 

"Oh…" she seemed to consider the idea, consider the prospect of walking even. "Sure... right, of course." 

Shakily, she got to a standing, and even though she didn't take it, instead refuting it with a polite shake of the head, you found yourself holding your hand out to her anyway. 

Once steady on her feet you took the form Martin had started filling out for her, then left him and Tim to do whatever they'd been doing before she came in, as you guided her back to your office. 

She followed you quietly, taking a seat across from you silently, folding her hands in her lap as she did so. 

"Now, Ms. Richardson," you started, slipping your chair underneath your desk and taking a look at the form regarding her visit - of which you noticed the "nature of experience" section was, predictably, blank. 

"From what I gathered outside your experience has to do with a hallway of some sort?" 

"Well, first it was a door," she began, tone growing from soft to frantic in a matter of seconds. "A door that I _swear_ to you wasn't there before. And then I was in some kind of labyrinth, at least it felt like a labyrinth, but even they have some structure to them, some, some notion of reality. This place was just hallways and corridors that _couldn't_ exist, that turned at weird angles and lead in directions that just aren't _possible._ " 

"Right, no, I understand," you softly interrupted, trying to catch her before she started rambling again. As it were, you did want to know the full story, not only because it was your job, but because you were genuinely concerned and albeit, rather curious. However, you wouldn't be getting much of a coherent statement out of her if you didn't have all the details.

"That all sounds very confusing, and I can see why you're so frazzled but could you possibly start from the beginning? What led you to this door?" 

She took a second. 

"I worked for Wolverton Kendrick. I still do, I suppose, I haven’t officially quit, but I haven’t been back there since this happened." 

And so began her statement. 

**\---------**

If the dread in her eyes hadn't been enough to convince you her statement was real, then the depiction of a tall man with blond hair curled into ringlets and an unearthly laugh, certainly was. 

Especially when you'd asked her if she recognized him by a certain name, one Sasha had provided to you over a year ago that seemed to correlate with such a depiction. 

"Yes! Michael!" Her eyes lit up in recognition. "That was it." 

She lowered her voice, looking at you with a determined edge you'd yet to see cross her face since you'd met her. "Do you know him?" 

"I think one of my assistants had a run in with him some time ago. Unnerving thing, to be sure." You answered, worry settling into its normal places within the crevices of your insides. "We'll look into this Ms. Richardson, see what we can dig up. In the meantime take care of yourself and try to take it easy if you can." 

An expression of disbelief painted itself over the woman's face, as if to say _'how could anyone take it easy after something like that?'_ but you didn't blame her, you understood that sentiment quite well, after all. 

"Right, well, I'll let you get to it then, I guess. Thank you." 

"No problem." You said, only for a thought to dawn on you just as she got to a standing. "Actually, would you like me to walk you out? This place can be kind of a maze in itself if you're not used to it." 

She seemed a bit taken aback by that, staring at you for a moment, blinking once and then twice before she finally answered. "Oh, yes. That would be quite helpful, actually." 

You nodded and then stood, making your way past her and out of the small space of your office, holding the door open for her to pass through. She did so with a small manner of reluctance, which was honestly rather understandable given what she'd just told you - and in fact was the reason you thought to walk her out at all. 

The two of you continued on, silently passing your assistants huddled at their desks. Each of them cast a look as the pair of you walked by, Martin even wishing the woman a good day as you led her to the stairs leading up to the main floor of the Institute. 

"If you head up these stairs and make a right at the end of the hallway, then a left at the very next turn, you'll be right back at the entrance lobby." 

"Okay." She said, looking to you then with a softer emotion in her eyes. "Thank you again. I… I really do appreciate it." 

"No problem at all." You smiled softly. "Like I said just get home safe and try to take it easy." 

"Right." She nodded. "Well, goodbye then." Then she began the ascension up the steps. 

Once she was out of sight you pushed the lightweight, wooden door with a plaque on it that read _Magnus Institute Archives,_ open and stepped once again into the front room where your colleagues had been waiting with eager expressions. 

"She seems a bit better than she came in, at least." Sasha remarked, probably having gotten the update from Tim given her and Jon were off somewhere when Helen first came in. 

"Hope she gets home alright." Martin added, his furrowed brows accompanying his small frown. 

"Same here." You sighed, walking over to the group. 

"So, what did her statement end up even being about?" Tim asked. 

"Well… that's actually the disconcerting part. I think she met Michael, the one you met a few months back, Sasha." 

Surprise flashed across the woman's eyes. "You mean tall, blond and monster?" 

"Yep." You nodded. "Apparently he popped up at a house viewing she was doing and led her into a labyrinth of some sort. Coerced her into a door she swears didn't exist before he came." 

"Oh shit, that's pretty messed up." Tim chimed in, looking in a rather concerned manner at Sasha. 

"Yeah, really." She breathed, crossing her arms over her chest in thought. "Wonder why he didn't pull anything like that with me." 

"I'd be thankful he didn't." Jon cut in wearily, making a rather good point if you were honest. "And are we sure it's even the same Michael?" 

" _Yes_ , mister skeptic." You groaned, very much not in the mood. "Do you know any other supernatural Michaels described as a six foot tall man, with blond ringlets and an otherworldly laugh?" 

Jon paused for a moment, then said a bit begrudgingly, "Point taken." 

"Thank you." You replied, if not a bit sardonically. "Anyway, I'm gonna go listen to it again, pick through the bits we can possibly verify and then you guys are free to listen to it afterwards." 

"Shouldn't you take a break first?" Martin interjected. "It's almost three and you haven't been out of your office since this morning." 

At Martin's words your eyes drifted to the large, ornate clock on the wall. Your eyes squinted into a glare as the hands on the clockface did indeed indicate that it was about fifteen minutes to three in the afternoon. 

_Well that's more than a little annoying, feel like I've barely gotten anything done._ You thought, all at once seeming to notice how hollow your stomach felt, the hunger clawing at your insides.

"Yeah, guess I probably should, huh?" You conceded. 

"Hey, why don't we all go out for lunch? There's a place that just opened down the street that Sasha and I have been eyeing for the past two days." Tim suggested. 

To which Sasha agreed with a cheerful, "Yes! That's a great idea!" 

Martin, never one to refuse an invitation for company, also agreed, "Oh yeah, I noticed that place on my way in. What do they serve, you suppose?"

And you can't help but smile as your little group talked animatedly about lunch plans, Sasha and Tim explaining to Martin about what they'd seen advertised on the windows. 

"Sounds lovely." You chipped in, the fond look never leaving your eyes. "Let me just grab my coat - oh, and Jon?" 

He looked up from his laptop, having apparently detached himself from the conversation at hand. "Yes?" 

"You're coming too." You winked, bearing an impish grin. 

"I, er, well-" 

"No buts! It's time for team bonding!" You laughed softly, causing the others to chuckle along with you. 

Jon tried to look like the idea was a bother, like he was being dragged into something, but you could've sworn you saw something soft in those normally narrowed eyes of his. "Fine, fine. I'll come with." 

"Good!" You chirped triumphantly. "I'll meet you guys outside in a few." 

While everyone else gradually rose from their seats, tucking their arms into coat sleeves, you ducked back into your office. 

You _had_ just been intending to grab your jacket, perhaps organise a few documents before you headed out - but as it were, you quickly discovered that even getting to your desk might've been an issue. 

The thing that appeared on it made sure of that. 

Or rather, perhaps it was more appropriate to say the _someone_ that had appeared on it made sure of that. 

"Such lovely assistants you have." 

You stopped in your tracks, shoving down a scream as you stared at this being that had made themself at home on your workspace, sitting squarely on top of the papers you'd been going through earlier. It had one leg crossed over the other as long, _impossibly_ long, bony fingers interlocked together, resting atop a sharp, jagged knee. 

"I wonder how long it will be before you inevitably discard them. You archivists have a disposition to be quite heartless, after all." 

The being before you wore a long, crooked smile as it said that, one that seemed an ill fit for the soft, round face it was etched into. 

Your tongue felt like it had dried up in your mouth as you considered it's other physicalities. You couldn't tell given it was sitting, but you could imagine this person was quite tall given how it's legs seemed to stretch out. Even it's torso seemed longer than it should've been. 

Though, even without a height confirmation, it's other features started to make sense in your mind. 

Long, blond hair curled into ringlets, and it seemed to, at least, be presenting as male from what you could tell. 

"What is it, Archivist? You look like you've seen a ghost." His mouth stretched ever longer somehow as it said that - taking the meaning of a "cheshire grin" to quite literal proportions. 

"Who…" Your voice was dry when it came out, a squeak of what it normally was. "Who are you? What are you doing here?" 

"Oh Archivist," he clicked his tongue, seemingly disappointed. "You already know the answer to that first question, don't you?"

You hesitated for a moment, then found the courage to answer: "You're Michael, aren't you?" 

"In so many words, yes. I'm certainly the one you've been hearing about, if that makes things any clearer for you." He giggled; and that odd, otherwordly, echoing laugh that had been described to you on more than one occasion finally rang in your ears, and somehow things made so much more sense. 

"As for what I'm doing here, I'm simply collecting what is mine. The one who entered my domain." 

His grin turned a shade more sinister, a glint of red somehow highlighting his mouth from behind a row of sharp teeth.

Something clicked in your mind.

"Do you mean Helen?" You asked, shock turning to a worried scowl. "And what do you mean _domain_? You own those hallways, then?" 

"What a _fascinating_ question." He began, almost gleefully. "Does your hand, in any way, own your stomach?" 

And you found yourself staring at him again with an incredulous look, lost in the scramble of such an analogy. "What _the fuck_ does that-" 

"In any case it doesn't matter." He cut you off, waving a long, sharp hand dismissively. "The Wanderer had a brief respite but it's over now." 

Alarm shot through your body like a bolt of electricity. "What did you do to her?" 

"I only provided her a door back to where she now belongs. You were clever to escort her as far as you did, but I'm afraid my doors exist far beyond what _you_ can see." He taunted. "And it is fortunate that the woman at reception didn't _quite_ pay attention to _which_ door she told Helen to leave through." 

You weren't sure where it came from, where the feeling of hot anger found any place to travel up through the cold, icy formations of fear that had gripped you so tightly. But it did. 

"Let her go, Michael." You seethed. 

But he seemed less than impressed, laughing in your face in an unbelieving way, as if he found it funny that you had the gall to demand anything from him. 

"No?" 

And that only served to piss you off more. "I _said_ let her go!" 

"And what will you do about it?" 

Faster than you could blink, Michael appeared on his feet, unfurled to more than six feet tall, towering over you in every sense of the word. 

"Are you going to attack me?" He asked, very much in a way that was meant to be teasing. 

You gritted your teeth, only ever spurred on by such a statement, but the moment you took a step Michael vanished, reappearing in a single second later, and this time only inches from you. 

Those long, sharp fingers closed loosely around your throat, caging it in such a way that you could feel the edge of those fingers pressing into your skin, and yet his grip was loose enough that it never drew blood. 

His eyes stared into yours and for the first time did you notice how they… shifted. How hues of colors faded in and out, how they mixed and swirled. For a moment you thought you might've seen plain static flash through those eyes, like a t.v. screen without a signal. 

It might have been beautiful had you not been so terrified. 

"Who are you…?" Was all you managed to choke out, transfixed by those eyes. 

"I am not a “who,” Archivist, I am a “what.” A “who” requires a degree of identity I can’t ever retain." He explained it as though it were the simplest concept to grasp, but to you, it just sounded like another scrambled analogy. 

"What does that _mean_? What are you talking about?" Your voice sounded so far away from you, so weak. 

"I am talking about myself. It’s not something I’m used to doing, so I’m sorry if I’m not very good at it." 

He looked… somehow flustered, a hue of pale red seeming to bloom on those round cheeks of his. 

Slowly, ever so slowly, the cage that his fingers had become unravelled around your neck, freeing you from his grasp. Instead, it fell back to his side, hanging there. 

Your own hand replaced where his had been, rubbing over the places where your skin still itched from the contact, all the while never breaking eye contact with the creature before you. 

"So, if you have Helen, then what do you want from me? Did you come here just to taunt me about it?" You asked, regaining some of the edge to your voice. 

"I wanted to _talk_ to you." He said, sounding somehow at a loss that you didn't seem to comprehend that. "I intervened, to save you before. I, I’m interested in what happens now." 

The thought dawned on you then, one you'd been curious of since Sasha's first encounter with Michael. "Why… why did you help us before? It's not like you had any reason to and you clearly don't have an issue with people dying." That last part, admittedly, came across rather terse. 

"I’m normally neutral, yes." He smiled. "But the loss of this place would have unbalanced the struggle too early. I’m keen to see how it progresses." 

"How _what_ progresses?" You scowled. "Is there some kind of battle? Is that why Prentiss came here?" 

Michael is quiet for a moment, considering you with something that looks like curiosity. 

"I suppose I may have said too much. Giving you too much information too early would be a rather unfortunate mistake, I'm afraid. After all, _things_ like you thrive on knowledge, on experience." 

_"Things" like me?_

And though that's the thought in your mind, your mouth snapped back with something a bit different.

"What? What knowledge?! You haven't given me anything aside from riddles and what feels like a rash." You huffed, still rubbing at your neck. 

Michael giggled at that, the same distorted, doubled laughter you had come to associate him with. "What a funny little thing you are." He mused. 

"Uhm… excuse me?"

"You'll understand in time, Archivist. It's only your nature to seek, to _know._ And I'm _certain_ we'll meet again as you travel that path." 

Michael raised his hand, as if to wave. "Goodbye, Archivist." 

And then he was gone. 

"Wha…" 

It was just you, alone in your office. 

"What… what the fuck is going on?" 

You could feel tears prickling behind your eyes, this mixture of fear and anger and uncertainty welling up inside of you like a balloon, inflating almost to the point of bursting. Your mind felt heavy, hazy, and you could feel a migraine starting to form.

Everything was just _so much_ you felt like screaming. 

And you might have had a soft knock not come thumping against your door. 

"____?" It was Jon's voice that called for you through the door. "What's going on? We've been waiting outside for almost ten minutes." 

Had it only been that long? It felt like you'd been with Michael for hours.

"S-Sorry!" You called back, sniffling softly as you aggressively wiped away the tears pricking at your eyes. "I just got distracted, was all. I'll be out in a second!" 

But Jon hadn't been the patient sort, not if he could sense something was off; and as you reached for your coat resting on the back of your chair, you heard the door to your office creak open. 

"Are you alright? It's not like you to keep people waiting." 

"Yeah, I'm," you were still turned away from him, trying to hide the expression you couldn't seem to shake. "I'm fine. Just got stuck reading something." 

But you had to face him eventually, and when you did, you could see his brows knit together in concern. 

"Are you… sure? You look, well... ill." 

"Yeah, no, I'm…" 

A pause. 

It didn't make any sense to hide what had happened from him, or the others, but you found it hard to put into words what you had just experienced, unable to get the image of those shifting eyes out of your mind.

Perhaps you hadn't been shoved into a hell maze for three days, but you were starting to understand, even just a little, what Helen's encounter with Michael must've felt like - why she'd been so panicked. 

You resolved that when your mind felt a bit clearer, when you could think properly, you'd tell your team what happened. For now you wanted to distance yourself from what had just occurred. 

"I'm fine, Jon. Just a bit tired, I'll be better after I eat something." 

Jon blinked, understandably confused, but he didn't press you any farther on the matter. "Alright then…" 

"Let's go join the others, yeah?" You forced a smile. "I've made you guys wait long enough." 

Jon was wary, watching you with a newfound attentiveness that you weren't quite used to. "Sure." 

But the two of you walked out together anyway. 

You vaguely hoped some fresh air would do you some good, help you clear your mind. 

Even if you knew it wouldn't.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me: steers away from describing the main cast because everyone's got their own headcanons on how they look and I don't want to impose.
> 
> Also me: losing my whole ass mind describing Michael because he has a physical canon description.
> 
> Also, sorry for borrowing so much canon dialogue, some of it is for plot, some of it is just because I like how Michael speaks LOL


	16. Lightning in a Bottle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After reading a certain statement regarding a Chichester bookshop and the owner's encounter with a regular of his, you decide it might be a good idea to visit Lion Street Books yourself.

You wound up telling your team about Michael in the end, having been shaking so badly at one point during lunch that you had no choice _but_ to explain what had happened. 

They believed you thankfully, even Jon, who was surprisingly out of questions when your voice turned weepy, trying to swallow down stressed sobs as your cheeks burned with embarrassment for looking like such a _loser_ in public. 

Your team assured you otherwise, of course, Martin rubbing his thumb affectionately over your knuckles as you apologized for the tears that bubbled behind your eyes. 

Their concern for you only seemed to grow once they heard the recorded encounter you had with Michael, something you discovered had apparently been there at the end of Helen's statement, right after you'd offered to walk her out. 

Had Michael turned the tape on before you came in? 

You couldn't fathom any reason why he would've done it, but you didn't have any other explanation as to how it was that your encounter had been recorded. And it wasn't as if you'd left it running, the definitive _click_ of you shutting off the tape before you left with Helen was very much present. 

Of course, so was the _click_ of the tape turning back on just before you came back into the office. 

Needless to say, it was one mystery after another, but at least you'd had proof of what happened, that you weren't just breaking down from stress and hallucinating things. Not that your group had ever insinuated such a thing, but it was nice for your own sanity. 

It took a few weeks for you to feel, not comfortable, but _okay_ in your office again. 

Which was honestly rather ironic, considering by that time there were outside inquiries that needed to be made. 

\----------------

The place was crowded. 

Not in an unbearable sort of way like a smaller, less well-kept bookshop might’ve been, but there was certainly more product shoved into the moderate space than needed to be. 

Full bookshelves lined the walls, while in the middle of the shop there were glass cases all in a row, displaying what you assumed to be 'high value books.' You leaned over at one point to get a better look at one with a cover that had caught your attention. It didn't have a title from what you could see and while that was strange enough, what actually caught your eyes was the pattern printed on the front. It seemed holographic from where you were standing but the colors seemed to shift even without viewing it from a different angle. You couldn’t quite get yourself to look away from it. 

At least until your eyes jerked over to the price tag and the expression on your face contorted into a grimace. You might’ve been willing to spend that much on groceries for the month but definitely not for a tacky looking book. 

Besides, a shopping spree wasn’t what you were there for anyway. 

“Can I help you?” asked a voice, the sound coming from somewhere near the right hand side of the store. 

When you turned, following the sound, you were met with the disinterested gaze of the man the voice had belonged to, his eyes peering over a newspaper. 

Based on demeanor, and the fact he was the only other person in this shop - the one known as Lion Street Books - you assumed the man must be Herbert Knox. 

The man you were looking for. 

“Ah yes, actually, I had a few questions for you, sir.” You said, donning a polite smile as you made your way over to the checkout counter. 

“Certainly. If it’s anything about my stock, I assure you I have a wealth of knowledge about every piece that comes through here.” He said it with an air of arrogance that made you want to roll your eyes, but you were able to maintain yourself. 

After all, his cooperation was key to this investigation. 

“It’s not about your stock _exactly._ ” You began. “But you seem a knowledgeable enough man, I’m sure you can help me anyway.” 

He regarded your polite, somewhat forced smile a bit warily, setting down the newspaper he’d been reading. “I suppose that depends on what you want to know…” 

“I’m looking for someone, actually. He used to be a regular customer of yours? Went by the name of Michael Crew.” 

The man’s face went pale, the glazed over look of academic disinterest fading out of his eyes, only to be replaced with an emotion you had grown to know all too well. 

Fear. 

“I…” He hesitated. “I’m sorry, but you must be mistaken, I don’t know anyone by that name.” 

You were afraid of this. 

“Are you sure? He was a school friend of mine, he used to come in here all the time. We lost contact after graduation and I’ve been looking to reconnect with him.” You lied.

You had enough sense to know that telling this man you were from the Magnus Institute was probably the wrong move. Most statement givers didn’t like to make repeat accounts of their experience, most of them having had thrown your assistants out of their homes or sharply declined a phone call about a follow up interview. You had a feeling this man would be the same, especially considering he might have likely watched a repeat customer of his seemingly throw himself out of a window to his death. 

That wasn’t the kind of thing most people wanted to relive. 

“No.” The man said sharply, voice dark. “I don’t know anyone by that name. Your friend must have gone to a different shop.” 

“No, I’m certain this is the place.” You pressed. “He used to tell me about it all the time. Lion Street Books. That’s you isn’t it?” 

You could tell by the glare that Mr. Knox was starting to lose his patience. “While yes that is certainly the name of my store, as I have said, I do not _know_ any Michael Crew.” 

“Sir, please-” 

“ _No!_ ” He said at last, voice raised, composure breaking. “I’ve had enough of your prying! I do not know this Mr. Crew and I will not have you harassing me in my own shop! _Leave_ , before I call the cops.” 

The blood in your body swirled around, heating up underneath your skin. You never did like being yelled at, or making people angry. But this was about more than the bookshop owner. You _needed_ to meet Michael, needed to talk to him.

Herbert Knox stared at you in contempt for what felt like ages, watching you go silent as your eyes lingered on the glass checkout counter, wondering what to do. 

It was then that something began to stir in you, quiet but powerful, like a rising static that crackled and fizzed within the very fabric of your being. Given you were the one looking out of your own body, you wouldn’t know how your eyes shifted, glowing softly with something otherworldly as you fixed your gaze on the old man once more.

“Mr. Knox, I’m sorry, really, but this matter is rather urgent. I need you to _tell me where Michael Crew lived_.” 

You couldn’t… really put your finger on what happened next. 

The anger in the man’s eyes didn’t completely fade, rather, they hazed over in a way that looked like he… wasn’t completely in control of his body. Like he was under some kind of spell. 

“Fine.” He spat.

And he turned, grabbed a piece of receipt paper and started hastily scribbling an address on it. 

You just watched, staring at him with a sick fascination as this man who had been so dead set, so abhorrent to the idea of admitting he even knew Michael Crew, wrote out what you’d needed just like that. Did he have a change of heart, or….? 

Or…. was this you? 

The old man shoved the paper into your hands with a surprising strength that made you stagger ever so slightly. 

“Now leave. If you ever come back I _will_ call the police.” He warned. 

“Yes, I understand.” You said softly, still feeling somehow far away from yourself, clutching the paper in your hands. “Thank you for your time, Mr. Knox.” 

Then you left. 

And if all went well, you wouldn’t be back. 

\--------------

There were many things that had convinced you that meeting Michael Crew was a necessary step forward. 

For one, the amount of statements he had appeared in was far too many to be a coincidence. He clearly knew his way around Leitners, and the most recent statement you'd found him in all but proved that fact. 

If you were interpreting the sequence of events correctly - he even knew how to use them to his advantage. Enough to get rid of the less corporeal dangers that you'd read about. 

And, in fact, even like the one you'd met - like the other Michael. 

And really that was just it, wasn't it? If some new creature was stalking you then you wanted to be better prepared than you were with Prentiss; and if it meant swallowing something into a Leitner then you were prepared to do that, no matter what the cost.

So, there you were, standing in an apartment building in a well-to-do area, staring at the number on the door of the flat you'd been told to go to. 

And yet, even with your conviction as strong as it was, why did you feel so… nervous? Some part of you even felt dizzy standing at that door, enough that you had to adjust your stance to avoid toppling over. Was it anxiety? A sudden vertigo spell?

You did seem to recall Mr. Knox saying that Ex Altiora had left him feeling dizzy whenever he held it, but as far as you knew, you hadn't ever even laid eyes on the book. Did Michael still have it? Did it infect his flat enough to seep out through the door? 

Or were you just overreacting? 

_Oh Christ, I came all this way, this isn't the time._ You thought with a huff, willing yourself to push those thoughts aside enough to knock on the door. 

You'd thought to announce yourself, to let whoever was on the other side - because there was every possibility Mr. Crew no longer lived there - know you were there, who you were, but after a few moments it seemed there was no reason to. 

The man who answered the door was…. enchanting, by all rights, and certainly not what you were expecting, but when you noticed the scar blooming over his chest through his half unbuttoned shirt, the branches of white scar tissue crawling up his neck and barely touching the tip of his jawbone, well, you knew you had your man. 

"Hello," he greeted in a pleasant tone, a light smile on his face, even though his eyes looked a bit cloudy when you finally focused on them. "Can I help you?" 

"Oh, uhm," you stuttered, transfixed gaze snapping as your mind registered the question. "I'm sorry to bother you but, uhm, are you by chance, Michael Crew?" 

Those cloudy eyes of his studied you a bit closer. Perhaps looking to see if he knew you? "I am. You can call me Mike, though. Never liked the sound of Michael." 

"Oh, okay, Mike then." You agreed, silently glad you didn't have two Michaels you couldn't easily differentiate between. "Well, Mike, my name is ____, I'm the Head Archivist at the Magnus Institute. I was hoping I could ask you a few questions if, if you're up for it." 

You noticed, with a soft alarm, the way the man's smile curled ever so slightly, that cloudy gaze seeming to clear as pale, blue eyes stared back into yours inquisitively. 

"That so? Why don't you come in then? I'm sure it would be easier to talk inside." He offered, stepping aside and gesturing for you to come in with a half outstretched arm. 

Well that was… easy. 

You hadn't expected him to be so accommodating, if you were being honest, and maybe part of you was a bit unsettled, sure, but if something happened to you your team would know. It wasn't as if you'd snuck out to come find Mike, after all. So there was that at least. 

"That would be lovely. Thank you." You replied, going to step through the threshold and into his flat. 

You took about three steps before a powerful sensation gripped you, making you come to a sudden halt. It was that same dizziness from before but somehow even worse. Not only had your vision started to double but it felt like the whole world, even the damn floor, was spinning and shifting around you. It was such an overwhelming feeling that it was no surprise when you stumbled, your equilibrium completely trashed, expecting to fall onto the carpet when the sensation became too much. 

Instead, you felt an arm reach out to grab you, steadying you. 

"Careful now." Mike's voice was soft as he kept a gentle grip on your arm. "Are you alright?" 

And just like that it was over. The world stopped spinning and your vision focused once more.

"Ah, yeah, sorry." You said quietly, vision slowly returning to normal. "I just… I don't know, got dizzy all of the sudden." 

"Well, we certainly wouldn't want you falling over, now would we?" He said, polite smile tinged with something that looked like… amusement, almost? Whatever it was, it made you flush in the worst way. 

"Why don't you sit down and I'll make you a cup of tea, hm?" He offered. "It's quite a long way up to this floor. You might just be a bit winded." 

"Oh," you started, at a loss for a coherent thought, continually stunned by his warmth and hospitality. He certainly was proving to be a far cry from the standoffish teen Mr. Knox had depicted him as. 

Though, time had a way of changing people, you supposed. 

"Er, yes, thank you, if you don't mind." You said at last. "I could do with a cup of tea, I think." 

"Grand." He replied, finally letting go of your arm once he was certain you were able to stand on your own. "Feel free to make yourself at home, then." 

At his invitation you found yourself pacing over to the small, round table he had in the kitchen, one with a chair on either side, and took a seat. 

He in turn, passed you for the kettle resting on the counter, and started preparing the tea. 

"So, you said you had some questions for me?" He asked, pulling you from the light stupor you'd found yourself in as you sat there, wondering where that dizzy spell had come from. 

"Oh, yes, right." You cleared your throat, trying to appear just the slightest bit more professional than you had in the past few minutes. "Are you at all familiar with Jurgen Leitner, Mike?" 

He chuckled lightly at that, eyes and hands still fixed on the task he'd taken up. "Aren't most people?" 

"Not as many as you might think." You countered. "Usually it's people in my field or people who, sort of... _stumble_ into contact with one of his books." 

"Hm. That so?" He murmured, though he hardly seemed surprised by that detail - which was hardly unexpected on your part, given he featured in more than one statement regarding the dreaded things. 

"Yes. From what I've found, anyway." You continued. "Did you… happen to come in contact with one of those books, Mike?" 

"With what? A Leitner?" He asked, now clearly trying to drag out the conversation for whatever reason. 

"Yes. A Leitner." 

"Mm." He paused. "Something tells me you already know the answer to that." 

You went quiet for a moment, considering his words.

"Would you be willing to talk about it then, in that case?" You asked gently, the need for answers, for a possible way of protecting yourself and those you cared about flaring up in your veins. 

He was quiet though, and your urgency only grew. 

"Please, Mike, I…" You sighed. "I just need to know how you did it. How you got rid of that _thing_ or whatever it was that was chasing you. I think my team and I might be in danger of something similar and I just… I just want to know how to protect them." 

There was more silence for a few moments.

"Interesting." Mike said, though it sounded more like he was talking to himself as he poured the now boiling water into two mugs. "Never thought I'd have an Archivist in my flat asking me how to use a Leitner. And to protect their friends no less." 

That name again. _Archivist._

It seemed so heavy when he said it. So purposeful. Some part of you wanted to ask him what it was about, what he knew. But you only had so much time and that wasn't what you were there for. So you pushed the thought aside and continued to try and press him for the answers to the questions you'd originally come there with. 

"Surely stranger things have happened?" 

He laughed at that, a soft exhale of a thing. "Yes. Yes I suppose they have." 

It was quiet again as he brought over the steaming cups of tea, placing one in front of you as he sat down with his own. He took a sip, staring into his mug for a moment after he'd put it down, looking pensive. 

When he looked up at you again, you could swear you felt that dizziness return, that light feeling of vertigo as his pale, blue eyes bore gently into yours, but it faded just as quick as it had come and his expression softened into that easy, polite smile he’d been wearing. 

“I suppose I could impart a few things to look out for, ways to pick which ones might be less dangerous, but I warn you there isn't exactly a guidebook for this sort of thing.” He explained. “You may very well wind up hurting the people you’re looking to protect, or even yourself if you’re not careful.” 

A slight frown creased his lips. “Or indeed, sometimes _despite_ being careful.” 

“I… kind of figured as much, to be honest.”

You would’ve been a fool to think otherwise after everything you’d read. 

"But it's better than nothing - which is all I have right now. And having nothing is how I got these damn things." You huffed, gesturing vaguely to the worm scars on your face. 

Mike chuckled airily, in a way that seemed nostalgic, familiar. "I see. Well, I suppose I can help in that case." 

"When it comes to Leitner's it's important you understand that none are truly harmless." He began. "Some are less so, sure, but all of them can inflict harm in one way or another. Thankfully the more innocuous ones can be… more forgiving, for lack of a better term. And these ones often have a certain kind of aura associated with them." 

"And what do these 'innocuous ones' feel like?" You asked. 

"They don't feel as compelling to pick up." He answered simply, shrugging slightly. "Some of them might call to an individual regardless, if the contents are of interest to them, but generally they don't have as strong of a pull as the more potent ones. Of course, this isn't always the case, but it's consistent enough." 

"So, it's kind of a gamble regardless, then?" 

" 'Fraid so. But most of it is when you're dealing with this sort of thing." 

You let out a breath, short and hard. "Right. Well, in that case, what about the actual binding part of it?" 

"That depends on the book. Some of them require you only read certain passages. Some of them require something a bit more substantial." 

"A sacrifice?" You asked. 

Though you already knew the answer.

An answer he only reaffirmed. 

"A sacrifice." 

"Though," there was a mysterious glint in his eyes, like a brief flash of lighting striking through a clear sky. "I'm sure you've already made your own kind of sacrifice." 

And in those words you found confirmation for the thing that had been nagging at the back of your mind for a while, ever since you'd first heard the way it had come out of the croaked, hollowed throat of Jane Prentiss with such weighty contempt. 

"I'm guessing you mean this 'Archivist' thing?" 

"Mm." He hummed. "Though I can't say I know all too much about it." 

"That makes two of us." You sighed, looking down at the cup of tea, the liquid inside having gone cold. 

At that point you were tired. Mike was helpful, sure, but you couldn't help feeling like you had more questions than you came with and no solid way to articulate them.

Frustrated, and perhaps a bit exasperated at another dead end, you thought it might've been a good time to excuse yourself before you overstayed your welcome. 

"Well, guess that's it then. Thank you for your time, Mike. It's been quite helpful." 

"Hold on." He interjected, causing you to pause just as you had risen out of your seat. "No need to interrogate and run." He smiled wryly. "After all, you haven't even finished your tea." 

"Oh, I-" 

"I could heat it up for you, if you like?" He asked, cocking his head slightly. "I'm sure it's cold by now." 

Something in his eyes made it hard for you to resist, to insist that you should be going, that you had a job to get back to. You couldn't say exactly what it was that stopped you, that captivated you so, but all the same you found yourself sitting back down, eyeing him curiously, if not a bit warily. 

"Alright then, if you insist…" 

"Brilliant." He reached across the table for your cup and stood once he had it in his grasp. 

As he walked over to the microwave, you found yourself at a bit of a loss on how to continue the conversation, embarrassingly enough. You'd been on such a mission to find him that you hadn't really considered what came after. Truthfully, you figured he'd be happy to send you on your way, have you out of his hair. 

And now here you were, trying not to come off too awkward as you softly drummed your fingers along his kitchen table, racking your brain for any conversation starters that didn't involve talking about the weather. 

Thankfully, it seemed Mike had his own questions for you.

"So, what draws someone like you to work at the Magnus Institute?" 

He'd asked the question innocently enough that it didn't seem like he was trying to be rude, but you couldn't say you understood what he was trying to get at. 

"What d'you mean?" You asked, raising an eyebrow. 

"You just seem," he paused, seemingly searching for the right word, "different, is all. I hope you'll pardon my saying so, but you hardly seem the stuffy academic type." 

You weren't sure if that was a compliment in the sense that you seemed more approachable than he would've expected, or if it was an insult because you didn't come across 'intelligent' enough. 

"It's not all 'stuffy academics' who work at the Institute, y'know?" You countered, chuckling slightly, your guard beginning to fall.

"That so?" He asked, a lilt of amusement in his voice as he pulled your reheated tea out of the microwave. "My apologies then." 

"It's fine, I get it." You assured, reaching for the cup of tea as he set it down. 

Now that you were a bit more relaxed your thoughts had room to wander and you found yourself wondering if Mike's tea would be as good as Martin's. Was that even possible? The idea _sounded_ absurd but you also knew you _might_ have had an unfair bias. 

Taking a sip of the tea presented to you, you immediately found that bias being challenged rather heavily, the comforting brew sliding down your throat easily, the taste sending a pleasant hum throughout your system. 

It was good. Very good. And you'd thought to say as much before Mike interrupted your unvoiced praise. 

"So, if not the academics, what actually brought you to the Institute then?" 

For some reason you faltered, suddenly unsure of how to answer. It was strange because you knew why you'd applied. You remembered Elias skimming over your paperwork as you talked, the way he eventually turned up his gaze at you and smiled, saying he thought you had a promising future with the company like it was yesterday. 

So why was it so hard to answer now? 

"I kind of just… found myself there, I guess." You shrugged. "It was fine in the beginning. I actually really liked it at the start. Had some good colleagues to work with, still do thankfully, but now it's…" 

The sad, nostalgic smile that found its way onto your lips sullened into a frown. "I'm afraid to even come in some days. Now it's all ghosts and being chased by weird monsters." 

"Suppose it's safe to say that's not what you signed up for?" 

"Obviously." You snorted, the underlying truth of it all tumbling out of your mouth. "I just wanted a _job_ . Wanted to be able to pay my bills and like _maybe_ get a bagel on my way to work. Not all of… _this."_

"I see." And even though it's only two words, they somehow ring with a feeling of familiarity, of understanding. "Well, I'm not sure how much help I can be in that regard, but if you have more questions, you know where to find me." 

You blinked at him. "Oh… thank you." 

"You seem surprised." He smiled, bemusement twinkling in his eyes. 

"To be honest I've kind of gotten used to being thrown out of people's apartments when I come around asking about this stuff." Which you understood to some degree. You wouldn't want to have to relive some of the things you'd read about either. Even if it made putting the pieces together a bit hard. "So yeah, I am a bit surprised." 

"Well, you've made a good first impression in my book, so I'd like to help you if I can." His expression shifted to something a bit more playful, coquettish even, one might say. "And perhaps you could come back even if you don't have any questions. There are some lovely cafes around here." 

"Are you," the question you were about to ask sounded wrong on your tongue, like you were being far too presumptuous - if only because of your own insecurities - and yet somehow you knew you were right. "Are you asking me on a date, Mike?" 

"If that suits your fancy, then yes." He responded easily, though there's a soft twinkle in his eyes. "And if not then tea and questions works just as well." 

"Oh." 

Well. 

You certainly couldn't have seen that coming. Suppose you did make a good first impression after all. 

"That, er, I'll have to think about that." You flushed, trying to swallow your nerves. "But I appreciate the offer for your help."

"It's no problem." Mike assured, smile never wavering. "On that note though I, lamentably, should let you go. The hour is unfortunately getting on." 

You looked towards the wide window of his flat, one that framed the sky perfectly from his place on the thirteenth floor. Outside the sun had began to set, oranges and purples fading into each other, building a beautiful horizon beyond the streets of London. 

Panicked, you tore your gaze from the beautiful artwork of nature and instead pulled out your phone. The time on it read 5:15pm, exactly forty five minutes until your shift was over. 

When had you left the Institute? It was still daylight when you had gotten to Mike's apartment, wasn't it?

"Oh, shit," you swore quietly, noticing the multiple unread text messages from Sasha and the one missed phone call from Martin. 

"My assistants probably think I'm dead." You laughed nervously, getting up from your chair. "Thanks again, Mike. You've been a big help." 

"Sure." He answered, following you to the door. "Thank you for the visit." 

"My pleasure." You chuckled, earning one from him as well as you found the courage to give him a playful wink. 

As you stepped through the threshold, crossing from his flat out into the hallway, one final thought crossed your mind, one you'd left unvoiced from earlier and you turned once more to face him. 

"Oh, and the tea was wonderful by the way." 

For the first time during your entire afternoon with the mysterious man, did you see a true, fond smile form on his lips. "Glad to hear it." 

You flashed him a grin. "Have a good night, Mike." 

The last thing you heard him say before you turned a corner to the elevators and out of his range of sight was, "Be seeing you." 

And maybe he would. 

Just maybe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My brain: Alright look, we know you're a huge Mike Crew simp, but he's not set to be part of the polycule, so be good, yeah? 
> 
> Me: Yup. 
> 
> Also me, typing: Yeah but we can have lightning man ask us on a date as a treat. 
> 
> My brain: hluskyluoywoyep
> 
> ANYWAY, this chapter took three years and I kept getting stuck on it but I hope y'all like it regardless. I imagine this encounter would take place a little bit after MAG 53? So y'all don't know about Mr. Crew's killing life, yet 👀
> 
> If you have any questions lemme know!


	17. Ghost Stories

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You get a statement from a Mx. Casey Aisling who says they saw ghosts in an abandoned apartment building that was half burned to the ground. Upon telling you that one of the specters saved them, you decide it might be pertinent to investigate. 
> 
> Of course, you hadn't expected you would be going with company - let alone Melanie King.

Inaction was going to be what got you in trouble. You'd convinced yourself of that much.

So when a film student by the name of Casey Aisling came to give a statement about their experience exploring a half burned down apartment complex - a place in which they said they were set upon by ghosts - you decided some investigation of your own would be prudent to your continued survival.

Even if going to such a place seemed like it could only end badly, there was something about the last ghost Mx. Aisling had spoken of that had piqued your interest.

They seemed almost friendly, by Casey's recollection. In fact, in their opinion they had been what saved them, apparently dismissing the other ghosts when they had all but surrounded Casey on the fourth floor. The spectral form had then turned to them and told them they could leave, that they'd be better off not coming back.

You'd yet to hear of a benevolent creature, ghost or otherwise, appearing in a statement so if one did exist, you were keen to meet it.

You just hadn't expected you would be looking for it with company.

"EMF is already going off and we haven't even gotten in yet." Melanie announced, looking down at the tool in her hands. "Good thing I caught you before you came out here. This place is proper haunted from the looks of it."

The last person you had expected to see on your way out of the Institute was Melanie King, trying to barter with Rosie about something. Even more unexpectedly, the moment she saw you she jogged over, calling your name, clearly very desperate about something or another.

Of course the minute she'd noticed a spirit box in your hand - something you'd been able to fish out of the Institute's equipment room, much to your surprise - she had asked where you were going with it. And really, once you said you were going ghost hunting, that was the end of it.

The two of you had arranged to meet at the old apartment complex once the sun went down. Now here she was, with a good chunk of her equipment, including her camera, which she had aimed at the building.

"Well, hopefully if we just head up to the room where Casey saw their ghost, we can avoid disturbing the others." You started. "After all they did say they only started getting chased once they messed around with the belongings of the former occupants. Or at least the stuff that didn't get completely scorched in the fire."

 _'I don't know why I did it. I'm not a thief, honest, but there was something so alluring about all of this stuff that had gone almost untouched in the fire. Like, of all the things to not have been destroyed, why was it stuff like jewelry and watches that had made it? I even found books in some of the rooms! Not even the covers had been touched! No scorch marks, nothing. They almost looked like they'd been put there as props._ ' Casey had told you in their statement.

"Sounds about right." Melanie agreed. "The departed don't normally like having their stuff moved about. Especially if it's stuff they were attached to when they were alive."

"That in your ghost hunters almanac?" You joked wryly, a tone she easily matched.

"Yes, actually. Rule #57: Don't touch what isn't yours."

You snorted out a laugh, shaking your head. "Fair enough, I suppose. Only why is it fifty seven and not like, I dunno, five? Seems pretty important to me."

"Oh hush up." Melanie chuckled, swinging her camera over to you, the lens poised on what you assumed was your face. "Now, go ahead, introduce yourself."

"What?" You blinked. "To the camera?"

"No, to the ghosts." She said sardonically.

You only rolled your eyes.

"Yes, to the camera!"

"Why? I thought…" You didn't want to be insensitive, but it wasn't as if she hadn't just told you of the current status of her ghost hunting show in the van on the drive over there. "I thought you weren't doing Ghost Hunt UK, anymore?"

"I'm…" She sighed. "I'm not but if you're confident there's a ghost in here then I want a record of it. I'm tired of people treating me like a lunatic when I know what I saw."

You frowned, sympathy overwhelming your senses. You could've guessed that was the reason but hearing it out of her own mouth made it that much more real; and it dawned on you that while you had some support dealing with this new, macabre supernatural world, Melanie had been dealing with what she saw on her own. She'd lost almost everything. Friends. Her job.

You could only imagine how awful it must be.

"Yeah no, that's… that's fair. I get it."

"Thank you." She said softly, before perking herself up the best she could. "Now, if you would be so kind, please introduce yourself to the audience."

You put up a hand, giving a gentle, unsure wave as you spoke, not quite used to being in front of a camera. "Sure, uh, hi there! Name's ______."

"Uh-huh, and what do you do? I'm sure the people at home would love to know."

You raised an eyebrow at the large grin Melanie shot you behind the camera.

"You sure? They're gonna be real skeptical then." You laughed, well aware of what kind of response came with admitting you worked at the Institute.

"I think it'll be fine. Besides, the both of us are doing something a bit unorthodox, might as well go all the way, yeah?" She encouraged, clearly thinking this might be some kind of funny punchline were she to release the footage.

Oh, you could see the title now. 'Ghost Hunt UK teams up with The Magnus Institute?!' And maybe the thumbnail would have a shocked face emoji in the corner or something.

Actually, now that you were thinking about it, it didn't sound too bad. It would certainly get people's attention, for better or for worse.

"Alright, well, just remember you asked for this." You chuckled. "Hello everyone, my name is _____ and I'm the Head Archivist of The Magnus Institute."

You threw up a peace sign for added effect because you were, indeed, an outstanding specimen for academic perfection.

"Gross." Melanie chuckled, pulling a face.

You shrugged in return, grinning a little. "You asked."

"Unfortunately. Anyway, what are we after today?"

"Well," you began, gesturing to the ruined building. "Tonight we're after a possible ghost sighting seen on the fourth floor. We, uh,"

You thought better than to reveal Casey's full name, in case anyone besides Melanie saw the footage. "We received some confidential intel and I thought it might be a good idea to investigate. Also, if you do show this to anyone, I have a permit to be here."

You smirked softly, to which she rolled her eyes at, realizing you'd meant to tease her given she very rarely had legal access to any of the places she explored.

"Booring!" She shot back. "Now, with introductions out of the way, let's head inside, see what we can find."

"Sounds good to me." You nodded, pulling the spirit box out of the small backpack you'd brought with you. You'd also thought to bring your tape recorder with you but since that didn't produce live feed you could hear played back, you decided to wait until you had something to record to bring it out.

"You mind carrying this since I've got the camera?" She asked, holding the EMF reader out to you.

"Yup, no problem." You said, reaching out to take the device. "This all we need then?"

"If we're just looking to talk, then yes." She assured you. "But I have other tools if not."

"Nope. Just want to talk."

It felt beyond weird to speak so candidly, so reassuringly about talking to an actual ghost but at that point you assumed you'd already done more than merely speak to a supernatural being. Hell you were almost choked out by one.

"Alright. In we go, then." Melanie gestured with her camera to the broken front entrance, the long zoom lens swaying as she did.

"Right." A breath. "Here we go."

**\-----------**

Even just stepping through the front entrance, carefully making your way through broken and splintered wood, you could feel the energy in the building was strong, tinged with ominous intentions.

You encouraged Melanie not to wander too far into any of the other rooms, warning her of what had happened to Casey. She listened well enough, thankfully, but still angled her camera through any open entrances or doors.

"What happened to this place?" She asked, physically turning the lens of her camera to focus on something in one of the nearby rooms.

"Official reports say it was an electrical malfunction." You began to explain, face scrunching up in disappointment as you did. "Apparently something in the basement caught fire but…"

You waited for her to finish your thought.

"Wait, but if it was in the basement, why are the upper floors the ones most damaged? I mean, the whole top half of the building is gone."

"Yuuuup."

"Oh," she said, realization hitting her. "So we have a conspiracy theory on our hands, then?"

"Pretty much." You answered, having made your way over to the partially ruined stairs, wood and carpet broken and singed in many spots. "Better watch your step. Looks pretty unstable."

"Yeah, geez." Melanie zoomed in on where you were standing. "How did your person even get up there?"

You shrugged. "A person does weird and amazing things when they're scared."

There was a sad familiarity to her tone. "Tell me about it."

Gradually, the two of you wound your way up the steps, trying to watch for cracks in the foundation. At one point Melanie tripped over a loose piece of wood, her concentration largely on the camera in her hands and as she pitched forward you were there to catch her.

She fell into you a little bit and you stiffened your posture, holding her steady while she once again found her footing.

"Sorry, these damn stairs are impossible." She huffed.

"It's all good, I get it." You responded easily.

"Thanks."

Having regained her footing on the stairs the two of you continued winding your way up the steps. Expectedly, most of the floors looked majorly similar, except for the amount of damage they had taken that had warped and shaped them in different ways.

Eventually, the two of you reached the fourth floor and headed into the room Casey had specified they'd fled into whilst having been pursued by the other specters - an event you and Melanie largely avoided thanks to having left the other rooms undisturbed, it seemed.

"It looks like all of the other rooms." Melanie noted, all the while capturing footage of your surroundings. "Wonder what makes this one special."

"Guess we'll find out."

You focused your attention on the spirit box in your hand, finding that it didn't feel all too unlike when you would record back in your office. After all a spirit box was largely just a radio, a piece of technology invented right alongside your tape recorder in the late 1800s. Sure, it produced sound rather than recorded it, but it used similar technology to function. What was it Ms. Winters had said? Magnets or something?

With those thoughts circling about in your head, you took a breath, clicked the radio on, then spoke.

"Hello? Is there anyone here with us?" You asked.

There was a few moments of dead silence, just Melanie training her camera on your form as your eyes darted around the room, looking for any sign of a presence.

And then everything started to change.

The first thing you noticed was how fast the temperature dropped, the already chilly autumn air falling to a stark cold that cut through your body like tiny needles whizzing passed, invisible in the air. The EMF went off almost instantly, blinking furiously as you and Melanie buckled slightly in the sudden cold.

"Here." Echoed the spirit box in a distorted, robotic voice.

"Bloody hell…" Melanie murmured, lightly shivering as she aimed the camera at the EMF in your hand then back at you. "I've never seen anything like this before."

"Makes two of us." You said lowly, swallowing as you bit through the cold. Gathering your resolve, you said with a bit more conviction, "Will you show yourself to us? We want to talk to you."

The crystal around your neck, the one Sasha had given you, began to glow brightly, the small gem casting enough of a glow to light up the room in a soft, ethereal light. You looked down, taking in its brilliance with a look of awe, wondering how it was doing such a thing.

Then you felt eyes on you, and Melanie's hushed whisper of "holy fuck" drew your eyes upward once more.

When you looked up, there, about five feet from you, was a ghostly form, gently floating in place. It's features, from what you could make out, were that of a female presenting person. Her spectral projection bore the outline of a young girl in her mid twenties, with a short bob, wearing what looked to be a jacket, t-shirt and jeans. Her ghostly arms were shoved into the pockets of her jacket as she stared at you, cloudy eyes regarding you with neither malice nor benevolence. Just staring.

When she spoke again, her voice did not come through the spirit box, distorted and mechanic, but instead it came seemingly from her, soft but echoing all around you as though three of her were speaking to you all at different volumes, mixing together.

"Who are you that comes to this ruined place?" She asked, no emotion detectable in her voice.

"I'm…" Your tongue had dried up in your mouth and your voice came out in a croak of a whisper. "I'm _____."

The specter nodded, before turning only her head to look at Melanie. "And you?"

When you turned to face Melanie you found her still, camera focused on this thing, legs stiff and the half of her expression you could see that wasn't obscured by the camera was wired in shock, her visible eye wide.

"Melanie…" She stuttered, before all at once gathering her constitution, resolving herself to at least look braver than she may have felt. "Melanie King."

"Very well." She nodded once more, voice wisping in the air as she turned her focus back to you.

"And what brings you both here to this place of forgotten souls?" She asked.

It was at that point you thought to pull your recorder out but when you did you found that it was already on, apparently having been running in your pocket.

"Do you come looking for evidence of our existence?" She asked, head dipped towards the device now sticking out of your pocket.

"Sort of…" You swallowed, trying to straighten out your nerves. "What's your name?"

"Ashley." She responded softly.

"Well, Ashley, nice to meet you." You tried to smile.

"The feeling is mutual."

"Right, good. Well, Ashley, I received a statement from someone who came here a few weeks ago. They said you helped them, saved them from the other ghosts here." You explained.

"A statement?" There was a flicker of curiosity in her voice. "So you are the new Archivist then?"

The way she said it with such familiarity made chills run down your spine. "Yes, I am. Though I gotta be honest, don't know what all the fuss is about regarding that."

"I admit I don't know much about it myself but I do know you are… important. You are… someone I can speak to."

"Sure…" You spoke, tone unsure. "Sure, of course you can."

She was quiet for a moment, just floating there. "The residents here are not inherently evil. They are much like they were when they were alive, actually. After all, if someone barged into your home and stole those objects which you hold dear, would you not also be angry?"

"I mean… yeah, absolutely." You agreed.

"The person that came here was foolish to do such a thing." Her tone is slightly accusatory. "But oftentimes those that come here are unaware of what exists in this space. They are ignorant. And I don't think they should die for that ignorance."

"Is that why you helped them?" You asked.

She nodded. "I remember being so young. Full of spirit and adventure. Although I certainly hope they learned a lesson in their experience here."

You chuckled dryly. "I'm sure they did."

Ashley nodded once more, the crack of a smile on her ghostly face.

"Ashley…" You began. "I hope you don't mind me asking but… what happened here? I mean I know this place caught fire but the report doesn't make sense. It said it started in the basement but the lower floors are largely unaffected. I just… I don't understand how that could be."

Ashley's ghostly eyes fell to the floor, misting in anguish, and then looked back up at you. "We were sacrifices for those that worship The Lightless Flame."

Where had you heard that name before?

The gears in your head turned, searching and searching until-

"Do you mean the cult?"

Ashley nodded. "The very same."

"But why burn this entire building down? And how?"

"The cult worships a truly terrible being." Ashley started. "In exchange for their worship they are granted great, malevolent powers. Powers that allow them to do what they did here so many years ago."

"And what? Their worship is burning shit down?"

Ashley was silent for a while.

"There were many happy families in this building. People with promise. Not all, of course. But there were enough that chose to shine through even in the darkest of times. To see those lives cut short, to leave only a few behind left to remember what was lost. It is a powerful and profound sadness indeed."

Though she spoke with such a wise voice you couldn't say you completely understood what she was getting at. Perhaps because a larger chunk of knowledge was missing from you, but at the most basic level, you had gathered enough information to understand, and also, to ask another question.

"So this thing feeds on sadness?"

Something in your mind corrected you, a voice whispering a small, silhouette of a clue.

"Or… fear?"

"What is sadness but a fear realized?" Ashley countered, not so much as an argument, but as an adjacent thought.

"So it feeds on the fear of loss? Or the actuality of it?"

Ashley nodded again.

"Is there a way to stop it or, like, kill it?"

Ashley shook her head. “Pain and fear in it's entirety would need to end to destroy such a being. It’s the same for the others, and it’s a thing largely impossible.”

Your heart stopped. “The others? What others?”

“The other dreaded beings that feast on fears. One of them keeps me and the other residents trapped here, unable to move on.” She looked almost introspective as she said it. “She is… quiet and sometimes is not as vicious as the others. But this state of existence is numb and slow. Like crawling on your hands and knees through an icy blizzard, never knowing when or if you’ll reach your destination.”

“I’m…” You didn’t know what to say.

It felt like the core of your mind was stretching and convulsing to process this new information, while your subconscious started to fit clues and pieces together, everything coming together in a terrifying jagged puzzle that still had so many missing pieces yet started to form a picture all the same.

“Are they… demons or something?”

Ashley shook her head once more. “Not demons but... I suppose you might call them entities. Some call them Gods, though I would not." 

Your mind swirled, thinking back on something you had read in Jane Prentiss' statement. 

_'It is not a god. Or if it is then it is a dead god.'_

Your voice came out as hollow, wisp of a thing as you put a hand to your forehead, sweeping your bangs back as your hand moved slowly over the top of your head, struggling to grasp what you were hearing. “Good lord…”

Looking back up at Ashley you saw her regarding you with remorse in her eyes, those cloudy irises conveying some sense of sadness. “Trust me, I get it. It’s not easy to hear.”

“You got that right.” You let out a breath. “Well, is there anything we can do for you? Is there a way to free you?”

“We are bound to this place.” She said, voice still echoing softly around the room. “We had hoped by now the city would’ve done it’s due diligence and tore this building down. But it seems that it is being delayed through other means.”

“So the people who burnt this place down are keeping them from doing it?”

“I believe so.”

The words came out quicker than you had time to consider. “What if we burned it the rest of the way down?”

Ashley’s translucent face contorted into something that looked like shock for but a moment, then softened into a gentle resolve. “To do as much would certainly put a bounty on your head. And besides,”

Her ghostly form flickered eerily, It was the first sign of malevolence you had seen from this being. “We can be rather vengeful. There will come a day when one of their kind makes the mistake of coming here to finish what they started. On that day, we shall be released from our bonds, in one way or another.”

The way she continued to flicker sent chills up your spine, even if the threat was not intended for you.

“I see…”

“Be careful, Archivist.” She said, looking somehow softly into your eyes. “There are many things that will seek to harm you in this world. Not all are as kind as I am.”

“Yeah.” You snorted. “I know.”

She gave you a knowing look. “I see. In that case, tread carefully.”

Her form started to flicker in the way of a light about to go out.

“You too, Ashley. I hope you get what you're after one day.”

“We will.” She smiled, reassuringly. “It is only a matter of time.”

Somehow, even though her promise was the murder of some unknown person, you felt hopeful. Like her and the people here deserved their revenge and that you wanted them to have it.

“I see.” And as her form grew closer and closer to disappearing, one more question came to mind. “Oh, one last question?”

“Yes?”

“Do all of you guys talk in this weird, oracle, high wizard way? You’re like the third person I’ve spoken to that talks like that.”

She looked at you for a moment, eyes blinking as she registered your question, one that had clearly taken her by surprise. But the more the wheels turned the more you could see a smile slipping over her lips.

Eventually, she started laughing. And your heart felt warm.

The laugh that came from her was a truly harmonious, good natured sound, even as it echoed all around the room. It was the kind of laugh where you could tell she hadn’t exactly had a reason to be happy in quite a long time, and so the sound was real and unbarred, just a fit of giggling as the sensation came back to her.

“I suppose it comes with the territory.” She chuckled. “I certainly never used to talk like this when I was alive. It just feels fitting somehow to be ominous when you’re dead, I guess.”

“I suppose that’s fair.” You shrugged, chuckling softly. “But, y’know, feel free to speak your mind. Doesn’t have to be all ‘thine’ and ‘thee’ you know?”

She smiled. “Right. Of course.” Then she paused for a moment, form still flickering. “Thank you, ___. I hope we can talk again, maybe.”

You nodded back at her, smiling gently. “Me too.”

Just before her form completely faded, Ashley looked towards Melanie, regarding her as welcomingly as she had you. “You as well, Melanie King. And should you ever need material for your show, I’d be happy to help.”

“I-”

Then she was gone.

The temperature in the room slowly returned to what it had once been, and your necklace that had been glowing so brightly began to dim, until it was nothing more than a lightless crystal once again.

You and Melanie stood in silence for a long time.

“Well,” she began, breaking the silence. “That’s certainly the first time a ghost knew about my show, nevertheless offered to help me with it.”

“I can imagine.” You laughed, if not a bit sheepishly.

“Can’t say I was following that conversation though.” She said, lowering her camera. “Seemed like you knew what she was talking about.”

You shrugged, face contorting uncomfortably. “I know enough, I guess. I can give you a condensed version in the car, if you like.”

“Wouldn’t mind some context.” She chided.

“So would I, Melanie. So would I.” You nodded, looking back towards the spot where Ashley had been floating for a moment. “Anyway, let’s get out of here before someone who’s not Ashley decides to show up.”

“Yeah, good idea.”

And so, the two of you made your way out of the broken apartment building, stepping carefully over splintered wood until you were outside once again.

You packed up the van and drove off into the ever darkening night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I always feel hesitant to write chapters like this because I don't know if it's what anyone is looking for but sometimes you gotta take risks and write shit that's fun for yourself. So, hopefully, ya'll enjoyed going on a little ghost hunt with Melanie! Sorry I haven't posted in a minute, the holidays are always a time for me but hopefully we'll be over the bump soon. 
> 
> Anyway, happy holidays everyone and I hope you enjoyed this chapter!
> 
> p.s. Ashley and Casey are just ocs I snuck in here for more variety in the story, they're not in any canon statements or lore. I'm sure ya'll know that but I figured I'd mention it jic.


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